


The Simplest Terms, The Most Convenient Definitions

by eleanor_lavish



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Coming Out, First Time, M/M, Mormonism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-14
Updated: 2008-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bert and Brendon have always had each other's backs.  It's senior year for Orem High's Class of 1960 and the arrival of the new kid forces them to learn a little about themselves, and about the people they thought they knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://evocatory.livejournal.com/profile)[**evocatory**](http://evocatory.livejournal.com/) as part of the [Used Multimedia Exchange](http://community.livejournal.com/usedfic/3376.html). She asked for Bert/Quinn in High School, Brendon/Bert gen, OR domestic!Jepha. I...may have gone a little overboard. Many thanks to [](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/profile)[**schuyler**](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/) for being my cheering squad and beta, and to [](http://o4fuxache.livejournal.com/profile)[**o4fuxache**](http://o4fuxache.livejournal.com/) who always tells it like it is. Love to [](http://zillahseye.livejournal.com/profile)[**zillahseye**](http://zillahseye.livejournal.com/), [](http://sinsense.livejournal.com/profile)[**sinsense**](http://sinsense.livejournal.com/) and [](http://beatpropx.livejournal.com/profile)[**beatpropx**](http://beatpropx.livejournal.com/), without whom my Used existence would be measurably less awesome. (Coop- the epilogue is for you.) Warnings for general disregard of most Mormon customs, Wiki-only knowledge of 1960, ridiculous sappiness, and being a blatant rip-off of _The Breakfast Club_.

  
The first time Bert sees Quinn Allman is from the choir loft at Temple, a week after the new year. He's lanky, and he's sitting down but Bert thinks he's probably pretty tall (though tall is relative to a guy as short as Bert). Bert only notices him because he's fidgeting, opening his Bible to random pages, pushing his too-long hair out of his eyes. Elder Brooks glares at him from the pulpit and Quinn catches the look and just slouches back in his chair with a smug grin. Bert can finally see his whole face and his breath catches loud enough that Brendon elbows him lightly in the side. Quinn looks like an angel with a sneer, and something in Bert's stomach contracts and turns to butterflies.

*

The next time he sees Quinn is in his Monday morning English class, wandering in with his shirt partly untucked and his blazer mostly hidden under a worn leather jacket. Mrs. Frances frowns at him. "Everyone, this is Quinn Allman. He'll be finishing up the year with us," she tells the class. "I know you're new, Mr. Allman, but jackets should be left in your locker."

"Don't have one yet," Quinn shrugs, she just sighs and points to an empty seat at the far side of the room, one seat over and down from Bert. Bert tries his best not to stare, but when Quinn sits down, he can see the top of a box of cigarettes sticking out of his back pocket. Mrs. Frances has a habit of walking around the room during her lectures, and if she sees it, Quinn will be in serious trouble. He coughs a little, then a little louder and when Quinn turns around Bert looks from his eyes to the cigarette box and back. Quinn frowns for a second and then slowly grins, raising his eyebrows, and Bert realizes that he's basically been eyeing Quinn's butt. He blushes to his toes. "No," he hisses, and when Mrs. Frances doesn't look over, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and mimes taking a drag. Quinn's eyes open a little wider at that, and he reaches back quickly and tucks the pack farther into his pocket. He doesn't say thanks or anything, but the next time he catches Bert looking at him (and okay, maybe Bert is looking at him a little more than he should, but Quinn is even prettier up close, with his pale skin and long fingers), Quinn winks. Bert's stomach flips in the weirdest way, and he turns his eyes to the front of the room. He knows Quinn can see him blushing, and it just makes him blush even harder.

*

"He seems okay," he says to Brendon during lunch. "He's just. Different, I guess." They're sitting on the benches outside-- a luxury for seniors only, which should make them cool, but really just makes them, well... un-cool seniors. "He was carrying a box of cigarettes in his pocket. On school grounds."

Brendon wrinkles his nose. "I hear he got kicked out of school in Salt Lake, and so that's why he's living with his aunt out here," he replies with barely subdued excitement. Brendon is one of the biggest gossips Bert knows. He's also been Bert's best friend since the fifth grade, when they were both runt-sized playground targets of big Danny Whitesides, and pinky swore (it would have been a blood oath, but Brendon's a little squeamish) that they would always have each others' backs. Dan's a linebacker on the Orem High football team now, and he mostly leaves Brendon and Bert alone, but they've still got each others' backs. They've applied to colleges together too-- Brendon for music, Bert for... something else-- since Bert can't imagine a life without Brendon being weirdly spazzy at him every day. Brendon's already talking about their Mission in a few years, confident that he and Bert can get assigned together "somewhere amazing, Bert, like Sri Lanka, or Australia. As far from here as we can get."

Bert wants to hear more about Quinn and Salt Lake, but the five minute bell rings and Brendon washes down the last of his ham sandwich with his orange juice and tugs on Bert's hand. "We're going to be late for choir!"

No one but Brendon ever cares if they are late for choir, including Mrs. Thorenson, but Bert just rolls his eyes and lets himself be led.

*

Nothing really exciting happens for the rest of the day until seventh period, when Quinn walks into Bert's chemistry class. They're working on labs for the day, and Bert tries taking a few quick glances at the front of the room, dividing his attention between his Bunsen burner and where Mr. Abbott is handing Quinn a textbook and pointing at the back of the room, next to Bert. Bert hasn't had a lab partner all year, since the class is oddly numbered and Bert isn't exactly the most popular kid. He keeps his head down most of the time, and sometimes doesn't bother to shower in the morning, and he's self-aware enough to know that he's a little weird. "Mr. McCracken, seems you're in luck!" Mr Abbott smiles at him. "Meet your new lab partner, Quinn."

"Oh, we've met," Quinn says brightly. Bert blinks for a second, and thinks _oh crap_ as Quinn walks toward him with a grin spreading across his face. "You like the view from the front as much as the one from the back?" he murmurs as he sits down, and Bert is pretty sure he's never going to stop blushing. "So," he says a little louder, settling on a stool. "What are we learning today, Mr. McCracken?"

"Bert," he says stupidly, and then even more stupidly holds out his hand. Quinn smiles wider, and Bert can't tell if its mocking or not.

"Quinn," he replies and shakes Bert's hand.

Bert motions to the jars of liquid on the table. "We're supposed to add them together slowly," he paraphrases from the workbook, "and stir the solution until it turns blue."

Quinn leans his elbows on the table and pokes at a scab on the back of his wrist. "I prefer my drinks shaken, not stirred," he says in a weird accent and Bert blinks at him.

"Um, I wouldn't drink it," he says, with a note of caution in his voice. Quinn just looks at him for a long second before laughing. "No, seriously," Bert says. "I know from personal experience. The last time I drank a chem solution, I threw up in the nurse's office _twice_." Quinn just laughs harder.

It doesn't sound mocking, but Bert shuts his mouth anyway and focuses on making sure his measurements are right. He wishes Brendon was in his class, because chemistry is way too much about precision for Bert to be very good at it, and Brendon would make sure he passed. He's a lot better in English, where he can work his way around to ideas. He feels Quinn's eyes on him and blushes _again_ , and seriously, _why_? When he looks back, Quinn says "You're an odd duck," bemused, but not unkind. Bert just shrugs, because its not like Quinn's wrong. Bert's the weirdo, Brendon's the nerd, Dan's the jock. That's how the world sees them. Quinn's probably the rebel, Bert thinks. Quinn's the guy who shakes things up.

His blush stays firmly in place until the bell rings. Quinn shrugs into his leather jacket and reaches past Bert to stack his workbook on top of the others as they leave. His chest presses firmly against Bert's back and he leans down to say "Same time tomorrow?" low and teasing in Bert's ear.

At that point all the blood in Bert's cheeks rushes to just south of his belt. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and by the time he opens them, Quinn is pushing the door open and striding toward the parking lot. Bert sits on the floor outside his locker until his legs feel less like jelly, with his blazer folded in his lap. It's one thing to have these thoughts about Steve McQueen, he thinks frantically, but he's never had his body react like that to a guy he actually _knows_ , and it's terrifying. He sits there until Brendon comes to find him for practice, and can't quite meet Brendon's eyes as he stands.

No one knows about these feelings Bert gets sometimes, not even Brendon, but with Quinn in his personal space every day for the next four months, Bert wonders how long he's going to last before everything goes to hell.

*

"We're not doing any more Pat Boone," Patrick says through clenched teeth, and Brendon sighs. He's had a long day and it just seems to be getting longer. Patrick's latest contribution to the barbershop repertoire is something by _Dinah Washington_ and Brendon is pretty sure four boys singing a girls song would not go over well with the principal. As the senior group, they run themselves pretty autonomously, and Brendon would like to keep it that way, thank you.

"We can't do a girl song!" he says for the fifteenth time and Patrick narrows his eyes.

"It's 1960, Urie. Stop being so damned square," Patrick frowns at him. "I changed the pronouns, okay? I bet you wouldn't care so much if it was Connie Francis," he grumbles. "Back me up, Mikes."

That was the other thing. These arguments always took way longer than they should because Mikey always sided with Patrick, and Bert always sided with Brendon. This was after a full hour of both of them actively not caring one way or the other.

"Look, whatever," Brendon snaps. Bert was late to rehearsal by ten minutes today, and he's staring out the window at where the guys in auto shop are assembling a car of some sort. Brendon has no idea what it is, but its garishly blue. "Earth to Bert," he prods and Bert looks back almost guiltily. Brendon cuts his eyes back out the window for a second, and he can see Dan wiping off his hands, laughing at something the new kids is saying. They look cold, poking at the car in the January sun, but like they're having way more fun than Brendon is currently. "We're running through the Music Man stuff, and then we're done, I think."

Patrick tugs his hat a little lower and glowers, but he doesn't argue. They make it through the last ten minutes unscathed, and Mikey even smiles a few times when Patrick fancies up his part.

"So," Brendon asks as they're packing up their stuff. "Where were you?"

Bert looks at his toes, scratches his elbow and _lies to Brendon's face_ when he says "Had to use the upstairs lav, since the one down here was full of smokers." Brendon knows it's a lie because he used that bathroom with two minutes to spare. He doesn't even know what to do about it, since Bert's never really lied to him before. He keeps his head down and when he looks back up, Bert eyes are cutting out the window again.

"Whitesides finally grow that extra head?" Brendon says with bitter edge to his voice. He thinks it might be aimed at Bert, which scares him a lot, but Bert just shrugs.

"It just. Looks interesting." Bert pushes his hands through his shaggy hair until its sticking out at all angles. Brendon wants to smooth it all back into place, but Bert would just do it again. "Don't you ever wonder what life would be like if we'd dropped choir and taken shop?"

"Well, we'll never know," Brendon says dryly. And no, really, Brendon hasn't ever thought that. He's thought about getting out of town, of going to a conservatory and living and breathing music every day with Bert half a town away at college. He's thought about exotic locations and places free of prying eyes, and _freedom_. He's not sure shop would get him where he wants to go. "Maybe in my valedictorian speech, I'll make a note about how knowing about fast cars gets you nowhere fast. Bet Whitesides'll love that."

Bert rolls his eyes and Brendon feels stung. "You realize that was all in the _fifth grade_?" he asks.

'That' was a year of getting teased and tormented enough that Brendon lost faith in a lot of things-- teachers, his parents, human decency-- but learned how to claw his way up the social order to get to a place where he was mostly untouchable. He'd dragged Bert along every step of the way, too, and now Bert was talking about _taking shop_. Shop with _Dan Whitesides_.

"Seriously, when is the last time you actually _talked_ to Dan?" Bert asks and Brendon crosses his arms.

"Well, I don't poke bears either," he snipes.

Bert just laughs. "Sometimes bears can be cuddly, and enjoy a nice pic-a-nic basket," he teases and squeezes Brendon around the waist and picks him up. Brendon flails his legs, but he's grinning.

"Fine," he says, "but we have four months left of school and we're done forever. Can we just keep our heads down and not go poking things?"

*

Things Bert learns about Quinn over the next month:

1) Quinn is really into cars. His favorite class is auto shop, and he always has a smudge of oil under his fingernails. He rebuilt his Chevy from basically parts, and he loves it more than his sisters. ("No, seriously," he says when Bert laughs.) He couldn't bring it to Orem, but when Bert asks why, Quinn's eyes get stormy and he drops the subject.

2) Quinn's eyes change color depending on his mood. Deep brown means he's pissed, and hazel means he's happy. He's caught them going green a few times but he always looks away from Bert too fast for him to figure that one out.

3) He wants to live in California someday, and maybe learn to surf.

4) The only thing Quinn loves more than cars is music. He can play a song on piano after hearing it once on the radio, or so he says. (Bert decides to keep his mouth shut about his role in the senior barbershop quartet, but he still thinks Quinn should meet Patrick.) Quinn loves real rock and roll, like Elvis and Buddy Holly-- all the artists that Patrick would love to arrange for them but who were banned by the Administration. Bert's heart beats hard enough for him to feel it in his fingers whenever Quinn hums "Peggy Sue" under his breath.

5) He doesn't believe in God.

Things he doesn't learn:

1) Why Quinn is in Orem, and what happened in Salt Lake; but he thinks the God thing might have something to do with it.

2) How to stop the blushing, the stomach butterflies and the jelly knees he seems to get whenever Quinn is within ten feet of him. (When Quinn is close enough that their knees bump under the lab table, things get even dicier.)

3) Why Quinn still wants to talk to him, even after it becomes clear that Bert is kind of a social pariah, and Quinn starts hanging out with Dan and Bob and the rest of the guys in auto shop.

Not that he's complaining.

*

"Hey, so," Quinn whispers to Bert over their various saline solutions. "There's a party up on the hill on Friday. You going?"

Bert blinks at him. There have been parties on the hill-- held in run down houses and drenched in beer-- since Bert was old enough to understand the word 'party'. And no, he has never been to one.

Quinn grins at him. "You should come," he says, like it's that easy.

Bert's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, pull it in between his teeth. Quinn's eyes follow the movement, and Bert ducks his head.

"I'll try?"

"Cool," Quinn says a second later, and he looks from Bert's mouth to their lab assignment. "So this thing is supposed to float in one of these?"

"It probably won't," Bert sighs, and they get to work.

*

"Hey, so," Bert says. "You want to come with me to this party on the hill on Friday?" Brendon almost snorts his milk and spends a few seconds coughing. Bert barrels on. "Quinn invited me," he says, seeing the question on Brendon's face. "If you don't want to come, I'll just go by myself, it's no big--"

"Sure," Brendon says, "Why not." Bert beams at him.

*

Two days later, Brendon has no idea how this happened.

"Do you even know whose house this is?" Brendon hisses in Bert's ear as they push past the kids hanging out in the front yard. The house is old but not too beat up, and Brendon's pretty surprised there aren't more kids running around yelling. It seems pretty laid back, compared to stories he's heard. There are a few kids he recognizes from school, but most of them are strangers, or old enough that Brendon only has vague memories of sharing hallways with them as a freshman. When he gets inside, the pungent, sweet smell of smoke is everywhere. He's never actually smelled it in person before, but he's pretty sure... "Bert!" he hisses again, and grabs his elbow.

Bert looks back at him, eyes pleading. "Just. Half an hour? If you still hate it we can go, I promise." Bert rarely asks for anything, and Brendon can feel his resolve crumbling under the weight of Bert's wide eyes.

"Fine," he mutters and Bert grins at him and cranes his neck around.

"You lost?" a voice asks from Brendon's left and he startles enough that there's a warm hand, steadying on his lower back. "I'll take that as a yes." They turn to see a guy in his twenties with black framed glasses, dark hair slicked back. He's wearing jeans and a black button up that's a size too small, the arms ripped off at the seams to show off a patchwork of tattoos. There aren't a lot of tattoos in Orem, not that you'd see; he catches Bert staring and lightly kicks his shin.

"Sorry," Brendon says, and the guy's smile is surprisingly warm.

"No problem, everyone's lost at some point. I'm Jepha," he says, "and this is my house. Over there is my roommate, Branden," he points to a guy in a checkered shirt with bleached out hair shuffling cards at a small dining table, "that way lies the kitchen, the bathroom and the keg is on the patio."

"I'm Bert," Bert says with a shy grin and Jepha looks him over.

"Of course you are," he says cryptically, and laughs when Bert shakes his hand. Brendon wants to defend Bert a little, say that he was only trying to be polite, but Jepha's swinging an arm around Bert's shoulder like they're old friends. "And this is?" he asks, gesturing to Brendon.

"Brendon. He's with me," Bert smiles and Jepha nods. Brendon suddenly feels really out of place.

"Hey, Quinn's out back," Jepha says to Bert and Brendon can't help but notice the way Bert's eyes go directly to the sliding door out the patio. Brendon can see a few guys clustered around the keg. They shouldn't be here, Brendon thinks. They could get in so much trouble... Bert ducks out from under Jepha's arm and heads outside with an apologetic wave. "Can I get you a beer?" Jepha asks Brendon.

"I don't drink," Brendon says, squaring his shoulders back.

"Cool," Jepha replies and nods to the table. "You play cards?"

Brendon can feel the heat on his cheeks. He promised Patrick he'd work on an arrangement this weekend, and instead he's _here_ and everything is totally strange. "Not really?" he says, but Jepha tugs on his sleeve.

"C'mon, Brand can teach you."

Branden stands up to shake Brendon's hand and he's sober and smiling. "There comes a time in a young man's life when he needs to learn how to play poker," Branden says with mock seriousness, and Brendon almost thinks it's an okay idea. "You can play with me this round."

"Hey, that is not fucking fair," comes a voice from the kitchen and Brendon can feel his heart speeding up. He knows that voice. Dan appears at Brendon's elbow, looming next to Brendon's small frame, and sits down hard in a backwards chair. He takes a sip of beer from a mug labeled 'World's Best Dad'. "You can't team up with the genius."

"Genius, huh?" Branden says and peers at him.

"I'm n-not," Brendon stutters, because he's stuttered around Dan Whitesides since he was twelve, and why should today be any damn different.

"You've caught yourself a valedictorian," Dan says with a grin and a little salute with his mug that... isn't really as mean as Brendon remembers. Brendon blushes for some reason-- he's usually really proud to be tops in his class, but somehow he knows that grades aren't really what these guys care about.

"It's not. I mean, they haven't figured it out yet," Brendon says, but Jepha just laughs and points at Branden.

"You've got a ringer, man. Make sure you use him for good and not evil." Branden just steers Brendon to a seat at the table and starts shuffling and dealing.

"We'll start with five card stud, no fancy stuff," he starts, and Brendon tries to pay attention to the rules and not the way Dan keeps glancing at them over his cards.

*

It takes Bert a minute to find Quinn in the zoo of the backyard. He's sitting with a small circle of people, a worn guitar in his lap, and he's picking out a Roy Orbison tune nice and slow. Bert's chest constricts a little and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do with them. When Quinn looks up and sees him, he falters for a second, and Bert worries that maybe Quinn forgot he was coming, maybe he didn't really mean it, maybe-- but then Quinn is smiling and standing up, handing the guitar to the kid next to him.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this, Allman?" the kid yells after him as Quinn walks toward where Bert is standing, trying to be inconspicuous in the shadows.

"I don't give a flying fuck, Bryar," Quinn yells back, eyes still fixed on Bert, and Bert laughs. Quinn's weaving a little as he walks, and Bert thinks it's kind of adorable. "You came."

"Yeah," Bert says and shrugs. He rocks up on his toes a few times. "Hi."

Quinn leans in close enough that Bert can feel how warm he is, even in the chill of the evening air. He smells warm too-- like leather and earth and beer. "Hi," Quinn whispers, and then giggles, and Bert is so gone on this kid. The thought makes him shiver and Quinn takes a step closer. "You cold?"

Bert shakes his head. He is definitely not cold. He does wish Quinn would give him some personal space, though, before he does something that might get him beat up by every kid here.

"Come on," Quinn says brightly, "I'll give you the tour." He actually _takes Bert's hand_ , or more like wraps his hand around Bert's wrist to pull him back inside, but his thumb slides along Bert's palm in a way that doesn't seem accidental. Even though it probably is. Bert is a hopeless romantic (or so said Gerard before he graduated, back when Bert thought he was gone on Gerard and tried to impress him with pretty awful poetry. Looking back, the Gerard thing doesn't even come _close_ to the Quinn thing), and he's been trying hard to be realistic. Wanting Quinn to touch him isn't something he can help. Actively seeking it out is something he can, and should, avoid. He pulls his wrist gently from Quinn's hand and stuffs his hands back in his pockets. Quinn looks away for a second before crossing his arms and nodding to the back hall. "That's where Jepha and Brand keep all their music stuff, off the garage. Jeph's a bartender at a place up near Lindon. Brand works at the steel plant. But they play a little bit. I've been jamming with them."

"I didn't know you played guitar too," Bert says, and he wonders why Quinn never mentioned it.

"Jeph's been teaching me," he shrugs. "I think he was just happy to meet someone else in this town who listens to Woody Guthrie." Quinn nods toward another small, dark hallway and Bert follows him. "Back here are the bedrooms," Quinn says as he's opening a door, and Bert looks in long enough to see a breast and a flash of dark hair before he shuts his eyes fast.

"Get _out_ ," someone yells, and Quinn is laughing hard enough that he's doubled over by the time he gets the door closed. Bert peeks his eyes open, and yells "Sorry!" through the door. Quinn leans against the door to catch his breath.

"Fuck, people need to learn to lock fucking doors," he says. He looks at Bert and his grin slides into a look Bert hasn't ever seen before. "Man, McCracken, you blush more than any boy I've ever met."

"They were _naked_!" Bert squeaks, and he can feel the heat on his cheeks.

Quinn leans in close again. "They were _fucking_ ," he whispers and Bert takes a step back, flustered. I mean, it was pretty obvious, but Quinn doesn't have to _say_ \-- "You've probably never even said the _word_ 'fuck', have you," Quinn drawls and Bert huffs in embarrassment.

"Sure I have," he lies and Quinn pushes off the door and into Bert's space again.

"Liar," he grins, and Bert takes a step back. "Say it," Quinn prods, pressing in closer until the wall is at Bert's back.

"N-no," Bert says, but he's not sure what he's saying no to anymore.

Quinn is pressed almost flush against his chest and he's close enough that his hair brushes Bert's cheek when he leans in to whisper "I won't tell anyone, come on, just say it."

Bert's practically panting now, and he has to dig his nails into his palms so he won't put them somewhere stupid, like on Quinn's hips, or in his hair. Quinn's breathing funny too, or at least his voice is quavery in Bert's ear when he says "Come on," low in Bert's ear. "Bert." His lips brush the shell of Bert's ear and Bert's hips come off the wall like he was stung.

"F-fuck," Bert grates out, and then he's pushing Quinn away as hard as he can and tearing back into the main room. Brendon is playing cards with a few guys Bert doesn't know, and Dan Whitesides, but he doesn't look at any of them. He can't even look at Brendon. "Hey," he says, as calmly as he can. "We should get out of here."

Brendon looks like he's almost about to object, but then he looks up and sees Bert's face, and nods. "Thanks for the lesson," he tells Branden, and Bert is out the front door before Brendon even has his jacket on. "You going to tell me what happened?" he asks as Bert drives them back down into town.

"Nothing," Bert replies and Brendon sighs and looks out the window.

*

Quinn isn't at Temple that Sunday and Bert doesn't know if he's upset or grateful. He spent most of Saturday with his dad and his sisters, pulling down the old wallpaper in the den and scrubbing the walls clean, his hair covered in plaster dust. He spent a bit of time on homework, and washed the car, and was generally the Best Son he could be. It was guilt, he knows that, and sitting in Temple with Brendon's knee pressed against his, he knows why. He isn't listening to a sermon; he's thinking about Quinn, Quinn's hair on his cheek, his lips on Bert's skin. It hadn't felt like an accident. In fact, in the quick second that Bert's hips were pressed to Quinn's, he'd felt the heat, the hardness under his jeans, and he thinks maybe he should have stayed. Wonders what would have happened if he had.

He's going to Hell, he's pretty sure. The thought itself is kind of freeing, like if Bert can just accept it and move on, all will be well. Quinn isn't worried about his soul-- Quinn probably doesn't even think he _has_ one. But Bert's not ready to make quite that leap yet. He _feels_ like he has a soul, like it's burning and twisting up inside him whenever Quinn is around, like it wants to be _out_ , be _free_. It's... amazing, actually, and Bert hides his smile behind his hymnal.

Quinn's in school Monday, but they have a quiz in English and Bert doesn't see him again until chemistry. "Hey," he says when Quinn takes his seat. Quinn's eyes are tired, and he hunches his shoulders and focuses on the lab report in front of him. He doesn't say anything beyond "pass me that thing?" all class, and by the end, Bert's hands are shaking a little. Whatever delusions he'd managed to come up with over the weekend-- of Quinn pulling him into a dark hall again, of pressing up against him and not running away this time-- are crumbling fast into a cold, uncomfortable silence. Bert has to go to the lav toward the end of class just to get away from it. He splashes some water on his face and takes a few deep breaths. He's not going to cry, not until he's far from this building, locked in the solitude of his own room, but he can feel the tightness in his throat where he's holding back tears.

He gets back to class just a few seconds before the bell rings, and Quinn is halfway out the door before Bert even has his books shut. He almost misses the scrap of paper sticking out of the chapter on properties of water: ripped hastily from a notebook, it just says "I'm sorry." Bert has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound, and he feels an upwelling of hope in his chest. He stuffs the scrap of paper in his pocket and races out to the parking lot. His dad let him bring the car even though he doesn't have to pick any of his siblings up from ballet or 4-F today. It's going to rain soon-- the kind of cold early spring rain that would always make Bert sick as a kid-- and he can see Quinn walking down a side street, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"Get in," he says as he pulls up alongside Quinn. Quinn just looks at him, shakes his head.

"Not a good idea."

"Quinn, get in the car," Bert says, surprised by the own forcefulness in his voice. But they have to _talk_ ; Quinn has to _talk to him_. "It's gonna rain, come on," he tries, and Quinn pauses, takes a deep breath before opening the door and sliding in. He sits as far from Bert as he can, shoulder pressed to the window, and mutters "Thanks."

"Where to?" Bert says after a second, because he doesn't actually know where Quinn's aunt lives. Quinn shrugs.

"I was just gonna walk. Aunt Susan's got piano students until five on Mondays, so." Big, heavy raindrops start to hit the windshield and Bert flips the wipers on and grins at him.

"Good thing you found me," he says and Quinn shifts down in his seat, but Bert can see the start of a smile there.

They end up grabbing hot dogs and fries at Caroline's Diner, Quinn sitting in the car while it idles outside. Bert runs as fast as he can, but he's still pretty soaked when he gets back. He pulls the paper sack from under his shirt and Quinn laughs. "Sorry, it was the dogs or me," Bert apologizes. He pushes his hair out of his face and he probably looks like a mess, and almost wishes Brendon were there to fix it.

"Well, we wouldn't want a hot dog casualty," Quinn nods and stuffs a few fries in his mouth.

They drive in silence all the way out to Canyon Road, and Bert parks them in one of his favorite spots at the base of Little Baldy, where he starts his hikes when the weather is warmer. Today, the lot is empty, water rushing down the hill to form swirling pools before they're swept further down to the town. Bert pushes the seat back, kicks off his shoes and puts his feet up on the steering wheel, socked toes curling around the wood veneer.

"So," Quinn says as Bert's unwrapping his food, "is this your car?"

Bert snorts. It's a big, blue, '56 four door Chevy, a little banged up from years of a big family using it, but still way more than Bert would be able to afford on his own. "My dad got the family a station wagon, so I get to use this one." His dad likes walking the mile or so from their house to the furniture store he runs with his business partner, so Bert gets the car more than most kids his age. He knows to be grateful, but he's not sure some days if his dad is just looking for an excuse to get Bert out of the house when he hands him the keys. ("You should have more friends," his mom used to say over dinner once a week, then once a month. Now, he hardly ever hears it, and he's not sure why, but it hurts more when she _doesn't_ say it.)

"It's roomy," Quinn notes, running his hands along the upholstery, and it's small talk, but it's talking, and Bert is glad for it.

"Roomier than yours?" Bert asks, because he knows Quinn well enough that talking about his car makes his face light up. Bert lets him ramble about transmissions and engine bocks for while, even when he has no idea what Quinn is talking about. When he runs out of things to say, Quinn turns on the radio, nice and low, and up in the hills they can only get one station. Bert starts humming along.

"Oh, man, Frankie Avalon? You like this crap?" he asks, and Bert rolls his eyes.

"It's what there is out here; I try not to think about it," he shrugs, and he thinks it was the wrong thing to say when Quinn goes quiet and says "Yeah, I guess."

Bert eats a few more fries and frowns at his knees. "I should get back," Quinn says out the window and Bert turns the car on, the _hottight_ feeling back in his throat.

"Are you," he starts, and then shakes his head. "Why are you mad at me?" he asks, and he wants to kick himself because now he sounds like a little kid. They just had a perfectly nice afternoon and Bert is going to screw it up again.

Quinn opens his mouth and then closes it, taps his fingers restlessly on his thigh. "'m not mad at you," he mumbles, and Bert huffs. "I'm not!" he says again and Bert glances over at him. "I'm sorry for being a jerk on Friday," Quinn says, and he sounds a little miserable.

"Okay." He pauses. "'m sorry for leaving," Bert says back and Quinn nods. _Okay, good._

They get to Quinn's aunt's just as the rain is letting up. Bert throws the car in park as Quinn roots around under his seat for his books. He looks up through his hair as he reaches for the door and Bert is caught staring, but he doesn't look away. "Thanks," Quinn says. His eyes are that green that Bert can't ever put his finger on. "You've got..." Quinn starts, and he reaches out one hand and swipes the pad of his thumb over the corner of Bert's mouth.

"Wha--" Bert says softly. His heart is beating like a dragonfly in his chest.

"Ketchup," Quinn smiles at him, and rubs a smear of red onto his jeans before he slides out of the car.

*

Brendon isn't actually on the student council, but he ends up on the Prom committee anyway. He figures it's a good thing, that they won't end up with a terrible theme song if Brendon can keep a watchful eye, but he still hates the meetings. He has friends in school who aren't Bert, of course-- Patrick and Mikey, Spencer and Ryan from debate club. Greta is in choir with him, and they got pretty close when they did Guys and Dolls last year.

(They're actually going to prom together, even though Brendon's pretty sure she's sweet on Patrick, who is too clueless to be real. He asked her mostly because she's a nice girl and Patrick wasn't ever going to get with the program, but also because Audrey had been making cow eyes at him in history class. Their parents had set them up on a date earlier in the year, and they'd gone out a few times ("she's from such a nice family," Brendon's mom had sighed when he left to pick her up), but she wasn't as nice as everyone thought. She'd climbed in his lap at the drive-in, and Brendon had tried to get into it, he really had, but she tasted like licorice and gum, and he'd had to push back a panic attack when she slid her hands under his shirt. After that, he didn't really call her anymore. She's pretty, but if that is what she wanted to get up to at the movies, God knows what she'd want to do after prom. Brendon's glad to go with Greta-- a night of hand-holding and watching Patrick blush in confusion sounds way better than fighting off Audrey's advances. Bert's going too, even though he still hasn't asked Molly Reynolds. Brendon makes a note to poke him about it later.)

But despite having friends who aren't Bert, Brendon's not the social butterfly that Victoria Asher is, or William Beckett. They rule the part of school that actually _means_ something, and Brendon knows he's just there to be the eyes and ears of the administration, and make sure there aren't secret plans to spike the punch, or TP Mr. Franklin's car. What's more, the rest of the committee knows it too.

It kind of sucks.

When they decide on colors and decorations, Brendon just keeps his head down. When they debate the merits of a beach theme ("seriously, Gabe, they aren't going to let your uncle truck in two tons of sand"), he just nods along. When Bobby Morris makes a joke about having separate rooms for "spliffs and stiffs", seven pairs of eyes cut immediately to Brendon, and he slides lower in his chair.

"You gonna have a problem with _that_ , Urie?" Cash asks with an overly-sweet smile.

"Hey, the kid knows how to keep his mouth shut, which is more than I can say for some people, Colligan," comes a retort from behind him, and Brendon blinks as Dan leans on the doorjam. "You guys ready yet?"

Vicky and Gabe grab their coats and the meeting disintegrates into gossip and goodbyes. Brendon gets up as quietly as he can. He's halfway out the door when Dan says, really low, "You have a shitty poker face."

Brendon flushes pink. "Yeah, well, at least it's pretty," he spits out before he can think, and his stomach rolls, waiting for the punch. But Dan just gives a surprised laugh, and shakes his head.

"Lucky," he grins, and Brendon ducks his head and gets the hell out of there, but he's grinning too.

*

It rains Tuesday and Wednesday too, and Bert gives Quinn a ride home both days even though they can't drive around because he has to pick his sisters up right after. The drive is only ten minutes, but they talk about stuff-- school and the football team and Bert's crazy cat. It's nice. Thursday is sunny and clear, the first nice day they've had all year. The temperature is up near sixty, and Bert has nothing to do after school. He thinks it might be good driving weather, just open the windows and head out toward the lake. "Hey, so," he asks in chem, his stomach twisting up in knots. "You want to go for a drive after school?" It's like a _date_ , Bert thinks, even though Quinn probably doesn't see it that way. But Bert's never asked anyone on a date _ever_ , and he's sweating a little at his temples for the whole period before he asks.

"Sure," Quinn says with an easy smile, and Bert bites his lip to keep from grinning like a moron and focuses on his schoolwork.

"Cool."

They pick up snacks from a gas station on Route 89-- Bert is gassing up the car and Quinn is in charge of food, so they end up with candy buttons and necco wafers, popcorn and bottles of pop. Bert's only had pop, like, three times in his whole life, and Quinn rolls his eyes when he says so. "You have got to get out of this town, man," he groans. Bert blushes (he hardly notices when he does it anymore, it's so normal around Quinn), and swings them out past the steel plant and west. They drive for half an hour, down a few winding roads that Bert hasn't ever taken before, and end up on a dirt road that edges the lake. "Hey, pull over," Quinn says, and Bert tucks the car behind a tree.

Quinn hops out and tugs off his jacket, tossing it on the front seat. When he stretches, there's a thin line of skin exposed, a sharp cut of Quinn's hipbone where his jeans ride low, and Bert closes his eyes and thinks about his grandma, about algebra, about anything that isn't Quinn's bare skin. "You comin'?" Quinn asks and Bert opens his eyes to Quinn grinning at him through the windshield before he climbs up on the hood and leans back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Bring the snacks," he says as Bert climbs out of the car.

The hood is warm from the drive and Bert sighs a little as the heat seeps into his skin. "Here," Quinn says, popping the top off a drink with his swiss army knife and handing it to Bert. They lay there on the hood watching some boaters far off in the lake, close enough that Bert can feel the heat of Quinn's body next to him, but not so close they're touching. He can feel this thrumming under his skin, like an itch he can't scratch, but it's okay. It's nice, once he gets used it. Sort of a low, smoldering flame instead of the white heat from the party. "This is the good life," Quinn says, and Bert sighs.

"Yeah."

They don't talk, but they don't really have to. Bert's almost drifting off when Quinn rolls off the hood, his boots squashing in the still-wet ground. "Hey, what--" Bert asks, peeking his eyes open, and Quinn looks back over his shoulder and grins.

"Gotta piss, be right back." He ducks around a tree and Bert closes his eyes as he hears the clank of Quinn's belt buckle and turns up his thoughts of _dead birds, Aunt Doreen, sine plus cosine_. Quinn shakes a smoke out of his ratty pack of Marlboros when he comes back and lights it with ease. He leans on the bumper as he takes a drag. Bert watches his mouth as he exhales, his eyes fluttering like the smoke is so much better than fresh air. Bert tips his shoe and pokes Quinn in the side with his foot.

"Hey, can I try one?" he asks, and Quinn raises his eyebrows.

"You ever smoke before?" he asks. Bert sits up and slides so his feet are resting on the bumper.

"Nope," he says. "But since I'm doomed to Hell anyway..." He holds up his empty bottle of pop and waves it dramatically. Quinn grins at him.

"You might not like it," he warns. "You're gonna cough." Bert shrugs. Quinn shakes his head, tsks in fake disappointment. "Here, try mine," he says, holding out his lit cigarette. Bert scoots to the edge of the hood, takes it carefully and puts it to his lips ( _This was in Quinn's mouth,_ his brain squeaks at him, and he frantically tramps it down.) and tries to pull a long drag. He gets about two seconds in before he's coughing so hard he's bent over double. Quinn laughs, but he pats Bert's back a few times until he can sit up. There are tears in Bert's eyes.

"Fuck," Bert croaks with a grin. It's a fun word to say, and it's worth it to hear Quinn's surprised laugh. Bert leans his elbows on his knees and looks down at the cigarette between his fingers. Quinn's laugh turns into a giggle and his eyes flash with something Bert can't name.

"Hey, let's try it this way," he says, and moves to stand between Bert's knees, his thighs pressed to the hood of the car. Bert blinks up at him as Quinn takes the cigarette from his fingers and pulls a long drag. He leans in a little, holding the smoke in his lungs, and it takes Bert a second to figure out what's happening. When he does, his heart almost stops, but he tilts his face up and opens his mouth a little, and Quinn is right there, his eyes half-closed as their noses brush. Quinn exhales and Bert tries to inhale the smoke, but he can't really breathe at all; all he manages is a quiet gasp as Quinn closes the gap and brushes his lips across Bert's. It's insane, this feeling in his chest like he's being suffocated, like he's about to explode, and the whole world falls away as he closes his eyes and leaves him with just Quinn, just Quinn's mouth, sweet and smoky and hot. Bert presses into it without even meaning too, and Quinn makes a noise that sounds like a whimper, and they're _kissing_ , real honest-to-God kissing on the hood of Bert's dad's car. Bert's never kissed anyone before, and he's not sure now how anyone can ever _stop_ , not when Quinn's tongue darts against his lower lip, not when Quinn's hand cups the back of his head and Bert's fingers twist in the front of Quinn's shirt, not until Bert actually _can't breathe_ anymore and he pulls away with a gasp. Quinn is panting, his eyes this bright, vibrant green, and Bert finally thinks _oh, that's what that means_ , and smiles. He wants to lean in again, but there's the scrape of tires on gravel and Quinn takes two fast steps back as a truck rolls by on the road behind them, two older guys with a cab full of fishing rods. Bert wants to reach out and pull Quinn back in, but the spell is broken, and he just bites his lip and looks at the ground.

"You want to head back?" Quinn asks quietly, and Bert shrugs.

"Sure. Make sure we stop on the way to ditch the bottles though, or my mom will kill me," he adds, and Quinn says "Man, you're a boy scout" and somehow everything is almost normal. Almost.

*


	2. Chapter 2

"Hi, Mrs. McCracken, is Bert there?" Brendon twists the phone cord around his fingers and watches the birds in his mom's feeder outside.

"Oh, honey, I thought he was at your house!" she says, and Brendon blinks at the phone.

"No, he's...," he stalls, because if Bert isn't at Brendon's then Bert could be in serious trouble with his mom. "He left a little bit ago, but he said he needed to grab some stuff from school. He's probably on his way," Brendon lies. "It's no big deal, I'll see him tomorrow," he finishes hastily and hangs up. His chest is heaving a little, and he heads to his room, closing the door a little too loudly behind him.

*

There are only a handful of things Brendon knows about Quinn Allman:

1\. He hangs out in auto shop during lunch every day, and seems to be friends with Dan Whitesides. (This isn't the red flag it used to be, Brendon is willing to admit, but it's not a mark in his favor, either.)

2\. He wears his leather jacket everywhere, and smokes in the boys lav, yet seems to avoid detention. (This, Brendon thinks, is patently unfair.)

3\. He's attractive, and he knows it.

4\. He seems to be using Bert as some sort of one-man taxi service, and Bert doesn't seem to _care_.

Brendon catches Bert in homeroom the next day. "Where were you yesterday?" he asks quietly, and Bert looks down at his fingernails.

"Went for a drive," he says, and Brendon knows he didn't go alone, but he doesn't say anything. Truth be told, he doesn't know what to say. He watches Bert watch Quinn all day, in English class, in the hallways, through the window during practice. It's scary in a way that Brendon can't put his finger on, like he's losing Bert to something he doesn't quite understand, to this _grease monkey_ who showed up with a bad reputation.

The scarier part is that Quinn watches Bert too, when he thinks no one is looking, and his small smile speaks volumes more than Brendon wants to know.

*

"Hey," Quinn says when Bert sits down in chem. Bert's stomach butterflies are in full effect, but he still smiles.

"Hey." They have a lab practical today, so they can't really talk since Mr. Abbott is walking around the room taking notes (and, also, Bert really needs to do well in this class). But Bert accidentally elbows Quinn in the side at one point and they giggle loud enough that Mr. Abbott clears his throat and stares at them.

"Sorry," Bert says, but he can't wipe the grin off his face. The back of Quinn's hand brushes Bert's hip more than once, and Bert finally thinks that it's probably not an accident, and grins wider.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" Quinn finally says at the end of class, quiet enough that no one can hear. Bert just shrugs-- ever since he gave up gymnastics, he doesn't do much most weekends other than hang out with Brendon. "You want to come up to Jeph's with me?"

"Party?" Bert whispers and Quinn shakes his head.

"Just a Jeph and Brand, maybe a few people. Small."

"Yeah, okay." Bert doesn't think he's imagining Quinn's small exhale, like he's relieved Bert said yes. Bert just bumps him with his hip. "You need me to pick you up?"

"Sure," Quinn smiles.

"Gentlemen?" Mr. Abbott says from the front of the room, and Bert and Quinn get hastily back to work.

Bert tells his parents he's going for a hike-- the weather has stayed unseasonably warm-- and they tell him to make sure to bring his jacket, and his mom packs him a sandwich. He feels bad lying, but he knows they wouldn't like Quinn too much. There still aren't any details about why Quinn is living here and not with his parents, and people in town have been filling in the gaps with idle gossip. So far, Bert has heard that Quinn beat a kid up at school, got caught smoking grass in the teacher's lounge, ran his car into a dime store, and got a girl knocked up. To be fair, all but that last one seem pretty plausible.

Bert picks Quinn up a little after noon and they are up at Jepha's soon after. The only other people there are Dan and Bob Bryar, who is pounding away on a drum kit when Bert and Quinn walk in. "Tell me you brought beer!" Dan cries and Quinn laughs.

"No, but Bert's mom packed some ham salad."

Bert flushes, embarrassed, but Branden just says "Oh, man, hand that over." Bert does, mostly because Branden is kind of scary, and watches as he eats half of it in three bites. Jepha comes out of the kitchen and hits him lightly in the back of the head.

"Don't steal the kid's food," he says and Branden looks up with guilty eyes. "I'm cooking in there!"

"Buh he gabe ih tho me," he says, mouth still full, then swallows. "You can't beat a mom sandwich."

Jepha just shakes his head, grinning. "Please don't mind the human garbage disposal," he says and pulls Quinn and then Bert in for actual _hugs_. Bert can't remember the last time he got a hug from someone that wasn't his mom, and he maybe holds on a second too long, but Jepha just gives him an extra squeeze and mumbles "Glad you came" into Bert's hair.

It turns out that Saturdays at Jepha's are pretty relaxed. Jepha overcooks the chicken casserole, but they devour a pot of spaghetti, and Jepha looks pleased with himself. Bert spends the first part of the afternoon trying to avoid both Dan (since Brendon is kind of right about how awful the fifth grade was) and Quinn (since Bert doesn't trust his own hands), but by the time lunch is over and they all settle in to watch a game on TV, he's pretty much decided that Dan is a cool guy. He can do all the voices from Howdy Doody, and he makes Quinn laugh a lot. Quinn grabs the seat on the floor next to Bert and presses up closer than he has to, resting his head on Bert's shoulder during commercial breaks and claiming he's tired, even though Bert can feel how fast his heart is beating. Bert's never been a big sports fan, so he watches the guys more than the game. Bob and Branden are on the floor in front of the worn brown sofa. Dan is on the sofa, his feet in Jepha's lap. Jepha's massaging a spot in Branden's shoulder while he yells insults at the umpire on the screen. He winces every now and then and Jepha stops until Branden turns around and sighs at him, and Jepha's hands are right back, his hands sure and easy, like he does this every day. Bert notices that Dan is watching Jepha as much as he's watching the screen, and he wonders about it for a second until Quinn's head is back on his shoulder, his hair tickling Bert's chin. "Watch it," he giggles and Quinn just pokes him in the thigh a few times and tilts his head back. "You're the boniest pillow ever," he grouses, but his smile is blinding and Bert has to stop himself from leaning down to kiss it.

They haven't talked about it, the kiss by the lake, but Bert thinks it's going to happen again-- pretty soon, judging by the way Quinn's knuckles skim the outside of Bert's thigh. He catches Bob watching them, and he can feel the heat in his cheeks-- a little shame, a little fear-- but Bob just shakes his head and lets out a long suffering sigh and turns back to the game. Bert lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

They drag Bert back to the practice room when Dan lets it slip that Bert can sing ("Why didn't you tell me?" Quinn grins and Bert just shakes his head. "It's mostly _Pat Boone_ songs!" he protests). Jepha wants to hear him, so they all butcher their way through "Jailhouse Rock", laughing when Dan does his terrible Elvis impersonation. "This is too fast!" Quinn yells as they play, so Jepha starts playing "Fever" and Quinn follows along, with Bob picking out a part on drums in the corner. Bert hums until they've got it, then starts singing quietly, " _when you put your arms around me, I get a fever that just can't compare_." He doesn't notice Quinn watching him until the second verse, and he ducks his head. "Come on, that was good!" Branden laughs and Bert groans. "All right, fine, new song," Jepha says, and Bert mouths," _Thank you_ " when he switches over to something Bert's never heard, a folk tune about the Great Depression.

*

They stay until it's starting to get dark; Bert has to get back before his parents worry. Bob offers to give Quinn a ride later, but he grabs his coat with Bert's and they head out together. The streets are quiet, and Quinn doesn't talk much until they pass a nearly empty parking lot. "Pull in here," he says tightly, and Bert can feel every blood vessel in his body waking up, the heat under his skin as he parks the car under the shade of some trees at the far side. It's dusk, but Bert still glances out the window as Quinn slides across the seat. "Hey," he says quietly, and Bert blinks at him. Quinn licks his lips and Bert can see that his eyes are green again, where they're not all pupil already, but Bert can't move, can't say anything. "You. We don't have to--" Quinn says, a little unsure, and Bert says "No! I mean, yeah," quick enough to shut him up, and then Quinn's leaning in and Bert's meeting him halfway.

It's not like the last time, but Bert guesses first kisses are always their own kind of thing. This one is slow and deliberate, Quinn inching closer, Bert turning until his knee overlaps with Quinn's thigh; Quinn makes a pleased sound. Quinn's got his hand on Bert's waist, his thumb making tiny movements against his side, and Bert doesn't know how long they've been there, and he doesn't much care, as long as Quinn keeps touching him. Quinn opens his mouth a little and lets his tongue slip against Bert's lips. Bert doesn't even think before he tries to reciprocate, but Quinn's tongue is still there, hot and slick, and when they slide against each other, Quinn groans and Bert gasps and jolts forward, his fingers in Quinn's hair, holding him in place as Bert tries not to pass out. He's dizzy, he's dizzy and he's _so hard_ and when Quinn slips his fingers under the waist of Bert's t-shirt and whispers "Off" Bert just _wants_ this, more than he's ever wanted anything ever, and he pulls back enough to shrug out of his jacket and pull his shirt over his head. "You too?" he asks, because Quinn isn't moving, he's just _staring_ , and Bert wants to taste his smile again, his neck, that jut of his hipbone. "Yeah, yeah okay," Quinn finally says, his voice rough and ragged, and a second later he's shirtless too, pulling Bert close and sliding his palm flat over Bert's ribcage, making him shiver. They're close, but it's awkward, both of them turned sideways on the seat, the steering wheel pressing into Bert's side, and all he wants is to touch as much of Quinn as he can, skin to skin. "We could," he pants as Quinn leans down to kiss his jaw, his shoulder. "Backseat?" he manages, and Quinn shivers. "You sure?" he asks, and Bert nods. Neither of them are smiling, but that's okay. It's a precious moment, something for forever, and he's glad Quinn seems to think so too.

Bert climbs back first, easy after years of practice. He thinks for a second before he turns and lays down across the back seat. "Fuck, _Bert_ ," Quinn says, watching from the front, and Bert just smiles and puts out his hand to help Quinn over. He manages to fold up so that he's kneeling between Bert's knees; looking down he can see that Bert is hard, can see the flush across his torso, but Bert doesn't feel ashamed at all. Quinn's skin is flushed too, his chest rising in hard, quick pants. Bert arches his back, lets his legs fall open, one foot propped on the window behind Quinn, and Quinn says "fuck" again, real quiet, and leans down to kiss along Bert's stomach, his mouth tracing from his belly button up his ribs to his chest. Bert's breathing like he just ran a marathon and his hands wander restlessly over Quinn's back and shoulders, into his hair. "Wanted you so bad," Quinn says as his lips brush Bert's neck and Bert turns his head to kiss him hard, thinking _Yes, me too, just this_ as Quinn's hips press down into his and they both moan.

This is... it's almost too much, the press of Quinn's bare chest against his, the friction of his dick against denim as they rock into each other, the wet heat of Quinn's mouth on his jaw. It's cool outside, but Bert is sweating against the seat, his back sticking a little. Quinn's elbow is propped next to Bert's head on the seat, and Bert's calf hooks over his thigh to press them closer, more. Quinn slides his other hand down Bert's side to the waist of his jeans and presses against the skin there, dipping his fingers under. Bert's hips jerk so hard that they both freeze. "Bert?" Quinn says, his eyes searching Bert's face. Bert tips his head back until he can see the sky, the moon already visible out the window. "Please," he says, his voice reed thin, and Quinn takes a deep breath before he leans back a little more. His fingers are shaking enough that it takes him three tries to pop open the button of Bert's jeans with one hand, and the slide of the zipper over his dick is agonizingly slow. Bert glances down to see Quinn watching too, each second stretched out until he traces his thumb over the hard outline of Bert's dick through his cotton briefs and Bert makes a choked, needy sound.

"Oh, God," Quinn says, quiet and almost pained. He traces the head of Bert's dick where the dampness has already seeped through the cotton. Bert's shaking a little, trying to keep his hips still, not knowing what Quinn wants to do, but pretty okay with whatever, as long as Quinn keeps touching him. "Can I... I want," Quinn starts, and Bert just reaches down and shimmies a little until his clothes are around his thighs, his dick hard against his stomach. He doesn't feel _wrong_ , but he feels... exposed, a little, and tugs at Quinn's belt. "You, come on," he says, because he wants Quinn with him, wants to touch Quinn possibly more than he wants Quinn to touch him. Quinn doesn't help him, but he lets Bert undo his belt, lets him tug his jeans open and peel them down until Quinn's dick pops free. Bert wraps his fingers around it and gives a quick tug and Quinn drops his head to Bert's shoulder with a "Oh God, oh _fuck_ , yes" and Bert finally grins.

Quinn's hips push into the circle of Bert's fist once, twice, before he props himself back up and reaches between them to pull Bert's hand away. "Hey, what--" Bert starts, but Quinn's long fingers are wrapping around Bert's dick, cool on hot skin, and Bert bucks into the touch. "Hold on, let me try..." Quinn says with a far off look in his eyes as he lines them up, Bert's dick against Quinn's and wraps his fingers around them both. "Oh, oh oh," Bert manages and Quinn exhales sharply through his nose as he strokes them together. It feels so good Bert thinks he might actually float away if Quinn's solid weight weren't on top of him. He tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Quinn's neck and tries to kiss him, but Quinn pulls away after a second, closes his eyes like he needs to focus. Bert just lets his hands drift everywhere they can find purchase, kisses the freckles along Quinn's pale shoulder. He can feel the pool of heat and pressure in his belly, in his balls. He's so close, his hips pushing up into Quinn's fist harder and harder until Quinn stops trying for both and just jerks Bert off in quick, hard strokes. "Quinn, Quinn, oh, God, o-oh, fuck," he rambles, his cheek pressed into the quivering muscles in Quinn's arm. "Yeah, come on," Quinn murmurs, and Bert can't hold it back any more, shaking apart, his toes curling against the window. He gasps for air as he tries to come down, and Quinn presses their foreheads together. "So gorgeous, so fucking hot," he whispers, and Bert whimpers.

Quinn shifts restlessly, still hard, and his dick slips for a second through the warm mess along Bert's groin and into the space between his thighs. It's weird, but in a good way, with Quinn's dick pressing against his still-sensitive balls, against a spot just behind them that's making Bert's spine tingle. Bert squeezes his legs together, just to see, and Quinn goes still above him. "You can," Bert says breathlessly, "if you want to." Quinn groans and lets his hips thrust down a few times, slow until Bert's arms wrap around his waist and encourage him on. It's almost too soon-- Bert's dick is still half hard between them-- but Quinn's hips speed up until he's pistoning above him, muttering curses against Bert's temple. "I'm gonna," he warns, and Bert puts his hands on Quinn's ass and pushes up to meet him. Quinn's whole body contracts violently, and Bert can feel wetness between his thighs, slipping down into the crack of his ass. It's gross, a little, but Bert's never really minded gross, and he lets Quinn collapse on him until he can move again.

"You okay?" Bert finally asks when Quinn blinks his eyes open. Quinn turns his face into Bert's shoulder, says "Fucking hell, McCracken" with a slightly shaky laugh, and Bert giggles. Quinn leans in to kiss him slowly before sitting back on his knees with a groan. "Well, this is..." he starts, and Bert laughs at his expression.

"Yeah, I know. Hand me my shirt?" he asks, and Quinn leans over the front seat to get it. Bert wipes himself down as much as he can before pulling his jeans back up, and Quinn does the same, both of them balling up their shirts and stuffing them in a pocket.

"You're gonna be late," Quinn says to him when they finally crawl back over the seats and Bert turns on the car.

Bert shrugs. He can't stop smiling and Quinn leans over to kiss his shoulder, then his ear. "You're amazing," he whispers and Bert reaches out to hold his hand for the whole drive home.

*

Brendon knows. Even before Bert grabs him after Temple on Sunday and pulls him across the street to the playground, he knows something happened with Quinn by the way the Quinn watched him all through service, the way Bert's knee bounced with energy, his cheeks high with color. They've had a lot of important conversations in this playground, Brendon sitting next to Bert on this swing set. They're not too big for them, they probably won't ever be, and Brendon lets the creak of the thick iron chains settle around him as they sit. Bert knocks their knees together a few times and Brendon's stomach aches from being tied in knots all morning.

"So," Bert finally starts, and Brendon doesn't want to hear it, suddenly. He doesn't want to _know_.

"Man, the service was boring today, huh?" he tries, and Bert huffs at him.

"Bren--"

"Did you see Mrs. Foster nodding off in the back? It was hysterical." He kicks his legs and lets the swing pull him forward and back a little, so he won't feel Bert's eyes boring into him.

"Brendon," Bert says, and he sounds almost pained, but Brendon can't... and it's not just that it's evil and wrong, not just that Bert could go to Hell for looking at Quinn like that, for letting Quinn... touch him. There's a bright, irrational _pain_ in the center of Brendon's chest, and when Bert says "Come on, I know you know" it flares up hot enough that Brendon has to push out of the swing and take a few steps to make sure he won't punch Bert in the face.

"I know he's not good enough for you," he spits out, because that's true enough. Bert has all the potential in the world, if he just sticks with Brendon, just follows the plan. "I know he's using you," he says, even though he knows he's lying, knows that Quinn watches him with this blind adoration that Brendon is sure is going to get them in serious trouble.

"You don't know him," Bert says quietly, his eyes pleading. Brendon stuffs his hands in his pockets and scuffs his shoes in the dusty ground. "You're not... You won't tell anyone," Bert sounds uncertain, a little scared, and for one horrible second Brendon considers it. Considers telling Bert's parents what he's been up to with this boy, this _asshole_. But they both know he won't. Brendon and Bert have each other's backs, no matter what, and if Bert wants to ruin his future, Brendon's not going to help him along.

"I won't tell," he grits out, but he turns on his heels and leaves before Bert can say anything else.

*

By the end of April, Bert is spending most of his free time with Quinn, making out in the car after school, grabbing food from the diner to eat at the park, taking him on short hikes when the weather gets warmer. His parents still haven't met Quinn, and Quinn isn't allowed to bring anyone home to his aunt's, but that's okay. They have a hard time not touching each other when they're too close (chemistry is suddenly Bert's favorite and least favorite class of the day), so they don't spend a lot of time with other people, save at Jepha's. Quinn and Dan change the oil on Bert's car, their feet sticking out from underneath as he and Jepha sip iced tea and make useless comments. He watches more major league baseball games than he's watched in his entire life. He learns new songs as Quinn and Jepha play, and hears all the gossip from the mill from Branden over dinner, and learns that Dan's knees are screwed up enough that he won't be able to take a football scholarship next year. "It's okay," Dan shrugs over a plate of cheesy macaroni hot dogs (Jepha is working his way through the Betty Crocker cookbook), "I wasn't going to make pro anyway. I'll make a lot more money going straight to a shop after school." His uncle works in the car industry and knows some people who might be able to get Dan a job in California, and Quinn too. After a few weeks, he figures out that Jepha and Branden aren't actually together, not like he and Quinn, and it's so startling that he spends half a day watching them until Branden says "Hey, kid, stop being creepy" with a laugh. Bert blushes and ducks behind his hair.

He discovers all sorts of little things about Quinn, too-- that he loves cartoons, and can't do a handstand, no matter how many times Bert tries to show him. His dad sold his car when he left Salt Lake, to pay for Quinn's "moving expenses", but mostly, Bert thinks, as punishment. Quinn had been getting into trouble at home-- coming home drunk, or smelling like smoke, staying out all night with some beat poets he'd met at a coffee shop. ("They were kind of like Jepha, only more about chaos and less about cooking," he'd explained with a laugh.) When they had a blowup at Christmas because Quinn refused to go to Temple, his mom intervened and they sent him to Orem, where there was "less temptation". He's not supposed to talk to them, since he's a "bad influence", but Quinn has a weekly phone call with his mom and his sisters, every Saturday morning when his dad is off at a Temple meeting.

Bert and Quinn make up stupid songs in Jepha's backyard, about teachers and cheerleaders, and talking dogs. Quinn hates school, but he and Jepha are big into John Kennedy. ("You just think he's cute," Bert teases and Quinn elbows him. "He could really change things," he says, but he never takes his eyes off the screen.) They learn other things, together, and the first time Quinn presses one spit-slick finger inside of him, Bert shakes apart so hard that he sees stars and Quinn's smile is full-moon bright.

*

Bert's happy-- almost stupidly so-- but he misses Brendon. They talk still, about class and the quartet, small things that don't mean anything at all. Bert wants to talk to Brendon about Quinn, about how Quinn makes him happy and scared all at once, about how he worries that Quinn will forget about him when Bert goes to college next year, about _sex_ and how awesome it is. Especially about sex. Because Bert kind of wants to be naked with Quinn all the time now, to pull him into the boys lav at lunch and drop to his knees and blow him until Quinn makes that unmistakable breathy whimper that says he's close...

He won't do that, though, and he won't bring up sex to Brendon, mostly because Brendon won't talk about Quinn at all.

"Bert," his mom yells to him as he comes in on a Friday. His youngest sister scampers past still in her ballet flats, and Bert hopes that he'll be able to weasel out of dinner since Quinn had to work on a car with Dan after school and Bert hasn't kissed him in nearly twenty-four hours. They're due at a party at Jepha's by eight, and he's already planning to tell his mom he's staying over at Brendon's. "There's a letter for you on the dining table," she calls, and Bert can hear the false calm in her voice, the same tone she gets when one of his sisters gets the lead in the school play.

It's more than a letter, actually; it's a small packet of information about University of the Pacific, with an acceptance letter tucked into the fold. Bert's heart stops for a second before he's off like a shot, the letter still clutched in his hand. His mom is waiting at the door to give him a big hug, and says "just be home by midnight" as he races out and down the street.

Brendon lives six blocks away and Bert runs the whole way-- UoP is their first choice, and Brendon's been crossing his fingers about the music conservatory all year. They applied for lots of schools in the same towns, but UoP is the only one they applied to together, and it's _California_. "Bren!" He pounds on the door until Mrs. Urie opens it with a small frown.

"Bert," she sighs. "It's been a while."

"Sorry," he says, still panting a little. "Is he here?"

She tips her head toward the stairs and Bert takes them two at a time. Brendon is sitting on his bed with his history textbook open on his knees. Bert leaps on the bed and Brendon looks up at him with a start. "Bert, what--" he says and Bert just drops the crumpled paper in his lap.

"University of the Pacific, Bren," he says and Brendon blinks at it. "Did yours come?"

He looks up at Bert with wide eyes. "Mooooom!" he yells, and they are both down the stairs like a shot, feet clattering in the hall before they come to a stop in the kitchen.

"Boys," she says, long-suffering, and Brendon smiles brightly but his eyes are slightly wild.

"Where's the mail?" he asks, and she furrows her brow.

"On your father's desk," she says, "But--"

Brendon's dad doesn't like anyone to go through the mail before he gets to it-- it's a rule that the McCrackens couldn't follow in a household of nine, but Brendon's the youngest child by a lot and his house has always been more strict, quieter. Brendon doesn't even hesitate, though. He goes straight to his father's office and barely has to shuffle through the mail before he sees the wide, thick packet with the UoP seal on it. "Oh my God," he says, holding it in shaky fingers, and Bert whoops with laughter and hugs him tight enough to pick him up off the ground and swing him around once.

"We did it," Brendon says, his arms wrapping tight around Bert's neck. Bert tucks his face into Brendon's neck and grins. "We've got to celebrate," Brendon says, pulling away and tearing into the envelope. It's the same small packet, the same letter that says 'Welcome to the Class of '64'. "Tonight, you and me, milkshakes and a movie." He's grinning and Bert almost says yes before he remembers.

"There's... I'm going to a party at Jepha's," he says, and his heart starts beating faster as he watches Brendon's face fall. "It's this weird May Day thing," he says quickly. "You should come, it'll be fun!"

Brendon swallows and tucks the letter back in the packet. "No, I don't want to be in the way--"

"Please," Bert says, and takes Brendon's hand. "Come on, we're going to _Uo fucking P_." Brendon flushes and he barks out a laugh, glancing nervously back at the kitchen to make sure his mom didn't overhear.

"Yeah," he says, looking down at their hands. "Yeah, okay."

*

"Hey!" Quinn grins wide when Bert pulls into Jepha's driveway, but his smile fades quickly when Brendon climbs out of the passenger seat. "Hi, Urie," he says with a nod, and Bert looks between them and bites at his lip.

"Hi," Brendon manages, mostly because he doesn't want to start anything here, on Quinn's turf. "Bert's got news," he says, to deflect the attention away from himself, and when Quinn looks at him, Bert's smile is bright enough to light the whole block.

"We got into UoP!" he says, and does a dorky little dance in front of the car. "Me and Brendon, for the Fall! Isn't that great?"

Quinn is still and quiet for a second. "You and Brendon, huh?"

Bert's enthusiasm wanes a little. "It's California, Quinn. We're all going, now. It's official."

Brendon can see where Quinn's eyes cut to him, stormy and dark and _jealous_. Brendon thinks _see, I had him first_ and almost smiles before Bert presses close to Quinn's side and murmurs low in his ear. Quinn's gaze drops and he laughs low, puts his hand on Bert's side and says "Yeah, okay, okay." Brendon can see where Bert's nose brushes Quinn's jaw when he pulls away and he looks quickly at the ground.

"Come on," Bert says and grabs for Brendon's hand, pulling him inside with Quinn right in front of them. It's loud in the house, hot and close and smoky, and Brendon gets that out-of-place feeling again, and he's mad at Bert for doing this to him, for turning their personal celebration into something that Brendon can't enjoy at all. He finds a corner of the room to sit in and Bert brings him a root beer and stays nearby, talking with people Brendon's never met-- people _Bert's_ never met, and that's a surprise. Bert seems happy, grinning at Quinn across the room and eating chips and dip and chattering away. Brendon's never seen Bert this open with anyone who wasn't him, and it's amazing. Brendon almost feels proud, but then Quinn whispers low in Bert's ear and pulls him down a dark hallway, and Brendon is alone when some drunk girl in a low-cut dress bumps into him and spills some beer on his shirt. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Shit, sorry sweetheart!" she says, and laughs when he stands up and heads toward the bathroom. If he comes home smelling like beer, he's going to be in serious trouble. The bathroom is occupied, though, and there's a small line of people, and the smell of what Brendon is sure is grass is wafting from one of the bedrooms. Brendon ducks into the kitchen to try and grab a damp towel or something and immediately wishes the floor could swallow him whole.

Dan is there, his strong arms resting on the counter on either side of Jepha, and they're so close Brendon is sure they're about to kiss. "Dan," Jepha says quietly, his eyes wide. There's a flower tucked behind his ear. Brendon is fixed in place-- he's thought about it, even before Bert and Quinn, about what it would look like for two boys to kiss, but they weren't ever as big as Dan, as hard or as tough. Dan leans in, eyes closing, and Brendon's chest feels tight, his skin prickling with some strange energy. But Jepha makes a soft sound and turns his head so Dan kisses cheek, then puts his hands on Dan's shoulders to gently push him back. Dan opens his eyes, dark and flashing, and Brendon backs out of the doorway right before Dan comes barreling through it.

"Out of my way, Urie," he growls as Jepha calls after him from the kitchen.

"S-sorry," he says. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, a throbbing under his skin that he can't tramp down. Dan grabs his jacket from a chair and yanks the front door open. Bert and Quinn are still no where to be seen, and Brendon doesn't think about it before he's following. "Hey, Dan," he calls, and Dan doesn't slow down until Brendon is at his elbow. "You heading back?"

Dan nods, his jaw set in a tight line.

"Could I--" Brendon starts but Dan is tugging his keys out and pressing them into Brendon's palm.

"You drive," he says, and Brendon can smell beer on him, and something else too, something harder. Dan's face is pink and when they get in the car, he turns his head and rests it on the cool of the window.

Brendon knows where Dan lives-- it's only a few blocks from him-- so he just starts the car and pulls down the drive. It's a sports car, smaller and more powerful than Brendon is used to driving, and he takes the hills slowly, stealing glances at Dan. He looks tired, a little defeated, like he just lost the big game. "You okay?" he asks finally, when Dan hasn't said anything, and Dan just shrugs. "Sometimes life just kicks you in the balls, you know?" he says and Brendon's surprised laugh actually gets Dan to grin.

"Yeah, I know," Brendon says, and Dan snorts.

"No you don't," he says. It's not unkind, just matter-of-fact, and Brendon's fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

"What do you know about my life?" he mutters, and Dan looks back out the window.

"I know it's a lot easier to go for the things people think you should want, than the things you actually do," he replies, voice low and rough, and Brendon focuses his eyes on the road and not on the way the light flashes off Dan's skin as they pass under the streetlights. Dan, who was supposed to be as different from Brendon as night is to day. "But whatever," he sighs and closes his eyes. "I'm the jock, you're the genius, what the fuck do I know?"

*

Spring weather has been quick to come, and Bert is curled up in bed next to his open window reading a book of poems for his English class. His family took him out for a big celebration lunch after temple that morning (which is good because he could avoid Brendon for a while longer, after Brendon took off from the party. Bert hadn't even been gone that long!) and he keeps getting distracted from his reading by the packet of information from the University. It's not that Bert didn't think he was a smart enough guy, he just never let himself think about the 'after' of high school, not like Brendon does. Now, he's looking through their list of majors, undergraduate requirements, extracurricular activities, and thinking about living in the dorms, seeing Quinn every weekend, napping under palm trees...

The clatter is quiet enough that he almost doesn't hear it, but then a second small pebble comes right in the open window and lands with a thud on his floor. He peers out and Quinn is standing the half-shadows of his driveway. "C'mere," he hisses and Bert tiptoes down the stairs and out the back door. It's not too late for him to be out of bed, but it's late enough that his mom wouldn't want him leaving the house.

"This way," he whispers to Quinn around the corner, and walks in his bare feet through the grass to the shed where they keep all their spare junk. There's a spot behind it that's small and dark, hidden from the neighbors by a few trees. Quinn's hands are stuffed in his pockets as he rounds the corner and Bert grins at him. "Missed me all ready?" he says, but Quinn's expression is tense, stony.

"Would you go to California with me?" he asks, low and strained. Bert shakes his head in confusion.

"Of course, we're all going, right? This summer, we're--"

"No, now. Today. Would you go?" Quinn's eyes are red and Bert reaches out a hand to touch his arm, pull him closer, but Quinn shrugs him off.

"What the hell is going on, Quinn?" Bert asks. Quinn just curls in on himself more.

"It's a simple question, Bert. Yes, or no." He's angry about something, Bert can see it in the way his eyes flash, but Quinn won't give anything away.

He can't just quit school, not with college so close, with _escape from Orem_ so close. "It's six weeks," he says, as soothing as he can, "six weeks, and you know I'll go with you. We'll go anywhere you want."

"Fine," Quinn says, and something in his voice is hard, bitter. "Can I borrow your car?"

"It's my _dad's_ , Quinn, you _know_ that," Bert says, and he runs his hands roughly though his hair. "Just _talk_ to me--"

"Nevermind," Quinn says, and Bert doesn't imagine the small break in his voice. "I shouldn't have come here." He takes a few quick strides out from behind the safety of the shed and Bert grabs for his hand but Quinn shakes him off.

"Quinn, come _on_ , " Bert pleads, and Quinn just takes off at a run.

*

Bert is late for class on Monday, and when Brendon looks up from his desk, he can see dark circles under his eyes. He has an uncharitable thought about slutty boys who stay up too late but then Brendon looks closer and Bert's eyes are red too, puffy from crying.

"He isn't here," Bert says dully when Brendon finally catches up with him at lunch. He pulls Bert into an empty classroom. "I don't know where he is, but he missed English, and he wasn't in shop just now." Bert sits down hard in a wooden chair and leans his elbows on his knees. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and takes a shuddery breath. "I should have just said yes."

"Yes to what?" Brendon asks, as gently as he can. He's not going to say 'I told you so', not when Bert is obviously in so much pain, but he wants to punch Quinn Allman in the face.

"He wanted to leave last night," Bert says, muffled by his own arms. "Just take off for California. I told him it was crazy," he says, eyes wide, and Brendon kneels in front of him.

"It _was_ crazy. He can't just ask you to give up--"

"I would have, though. If I knew... I didn't think he'd really _go_ ," Bert says, and he's crying now, enough that his shoulder's shake when Brendon pulls him into a hug.

"Hey, we don't know what happened. Maybe he's just home sick," Brendon tries to reason, but he's sure Quinn's across the state line by now, if he really wanted to leave. "We'll get through the day, and then we'll go by his aunt's and see if he's there."

Bert snuffles into his shoulder and they stay there until the bell. He catches Brendon in the hall after sixth and whispers "I'm cutting last class, but I'll be back by practice." Brendon looks at him sharply. "Jepha'll know something," Bert says, and Brendon just sighs and hopes he doesn't get caught sneaking off school grounds.

He's waiting by the music room door for Bert when Quinn shows up. Brendon still wants to punch him in the face, but in the harsh light of reality, he also doesn't want to get his ass kicked. He crosses his arms.

"Is he here?" Quinn asks, and man, he looks even worse than Bert. His hair is sticking out at odd angles and he's got a grass stain on the knee of his jeans.

"He left early," Brendon says, and it's not a lie. Quinn's face falls. "What do you want?"

"Can you just... can you give him this?" he asks, and hands Brendon a wrinkled envelope, Bert's name written on it in Quinn's messy scrawl. "I'm on a bus from Provo tonight," he says. "I just. If he wants to say goodbye."

"Sure," Brendon says coolly, and he folds it in half and sticks it in his pocket. Quinn nods and starts to walk away. "You could have just said goodbye last night," he calls and Quinn turns and takes a few backward steps.

"Probably," he says with a bitter laugh. "But I'm kind of a sucker for his face."

Bert shows up fifteen minutes later, breathless and unsmiling. "They don't know either," he says with a tremor in his voice, "But Jeph's going to go to his aunt's and see what he can figure out." Brendon presses his fingers to the letter in his pocket and nods.

*

Rehearsal is a minor disaster; Bert can't concentrate on anything, and Brendon keeps avoiding his eyes. Patrick just throws his hands up at four o'clock and tells them he's going home. Mikey files out after him, and Bert and Brendon pack up in silence. He could be almost anywhere by now, Bert thinks, and all he can remember is Quinn's smile when Bert kissed him goodnight on Friday, the way his hand lingered on the small of Bert's back. They're in the parking lot when Bert hears the low rumble of Branden's Corvette. Jepha's out of the car even before it's rolled to a stop. "He got kicked out," Jepha says grimly and Bert can feel the whole world spin a little. Brendon takes his elbow. "We don't know much more, his aunt practically shut the door in Brand's face, but he hasn't been there since yesterday afternoon."

"She found out about us," Bert says, horrified, because that's the only reason he can think of for Quinn's aunt to do something so drastic.

Branden snorts from behind the wheel. "Yeah, no. He missed curfew a handful of times, and she found a carton of smokes in the back of his closet, and when she confronted him about it, he told her he was eighteen and it wasn't illegal, so she told him he could pack up and go back to Salt Lake."

"He won't go back," Jepha says, and Bert nods. He still doesn't know the whole story, but there's no love lost between Quinn and his dad, and he knows Quinn would rather take his chances somewhere new than crawl back home. "He's got to be trying to get to LA," Jepha says. "Brand and I will check the train schedules, and we'll let you know if we hear anything."

"I should--," Bert starts but Jepha interrupts.

"You go home and stay there, in case he comes by again. If he does, bring him to my place. Brand and I can spare a room for a while, if he needs it." He jumps in Branden's car and Bert is shaking as they tear out of the parking lot.

"Oh, God," he says weakly and sits down on the back bumper. He should have gone, he should have run after Quinn, snuck him up into Bert's room and packed a bag. Quinn never asked him for anything; Bert should have known that when he did, it would be for something big.

"You did the right thing," Brendon says, his hand warm on Bert's shoulder, and Bert shakes it off and stares up at him in disbelief.

"You don't even _like_ him," Bert bites out. "You don't even--"

"You've known him for three months, Bert, and he's asking you to give up everything and run off to God knows where? I know that's selfish and stupid, and I know you're better off here," Brendon says viciously.

"You don't get it," Bert yells. "I know you think it's wrong, I know you think it's crazy, but I'm supposed to be with him, Bren, I know that--"

"It was supposed to be _us_ , you and me," Brendon yells back, and Bert takes a stumbling step back into the side of the car. "We had a plan, Bert; I had your back for eight years, and you said you had mine, and now you're just going to fucking _leave_?" Brendon tries to sound angry, but Bert can see how his eyes are shining.

"Brendon," Bert tucks his hand around the back of Brendon's neck and pulls him close, closer, until their foreheads are pressed together. Brendon's eyes are closed and he's close to tears. "Bren, you'll always be my best friend," he says quietly, and Brendon's hand fists in Bert's sleeve.

"I can't do this, Bert. I can't do this by myself."

"Can't do what?" Bert hasn't seen Brendon like this since they were kids, scared and totally adrift, his fingers shaking when Bert takes his hand.

"I can't be who they want me to be and not go crazy," Brendon says, barely a whisper. "I know you don't care, but I do, and I just. I'm losing it a little here."

"I see that," Bert says and Brendon lets out a slow breath and swipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I'm in love with him," Bert says, because he doesn't know what else _to_ say. Quinn wants him to leave, and Brendon's asking him, _begging him_ to stay, and it's like he's being torn in half, but, "I have to find him, okay? I'm not going to just leave, but I have to find him."

Brendon sighs and presses his face to Bert's neck. They stand there for a long minute, just holding onto each other in the parking lot, before Brendon pulls back and reaches a hand into his pocket. "Don't be mad," he says quietly, and hands Bert a letter. "He's heading to Provo, to the bus depot."

Bert stares at the letter for a second then back to Brendon. Brendon, who _knew_ this whole time... "'m sorry," Brendon whispers, red-eyed and miserable, and Bert just kisses his temple and jumps in the car. Brendon leans in the open window. "I'll tell your mom you're at my house tonight," he says, and Bert nods and turns on the car.

*


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
_Dear Bert, I'm so sorry I freaked you out last night, I just didn't know where else to go. Susan says I can't come back, and I don't want to. These people won't ever understand me, or how I feel about you, but I hope you do. I'm on the 7:00 bus to LA, and hopefully things will be better there. I'll understand if you don't come to say goodbye, but I'll write you as soon as I have a place to stay. Miss you already, tell Jepha and Dan and Brand thanks for everything. Love, Quinn_

It's a short letter, and Bert reads most of it while stuck at red lights. It's already close to five, so he hasn't missed Quinn, and he just hopes that he can think of something, anything, that will get Quinn to stay off that bus. Bert parks the car in the lot across the street and dodges two city buses as he runs for the depot. There's a bus waiting, blue and silver with 'DENVER' across the top in bold letters, and Bert forces himself to take a deep breath. It's not a big building, and it doesn't take him long to spot Quinn, slumped in a chair in the corner, his dark hair falling in his eyes. He has a worn green duffel under his feet, and the man in the ticket booth keeps eyeing him suspiciously.

Bert thinks maybe he should have gone home first, packed a bag just in case, but there's no time now. He jogs toward Quinn's seat. If he can't convince Quinn to stay, well. "I'm not above hitting you in the head with something," he says, and Quinn startles and looks up.

"Bert! What--"

"Sorry, I just. You can't go," Bert says and Quinn looks out the window guiltily.

"Already bought a ticket," he mumbles.

"So give it back." Bert kicks Quinn's duffel to the side and drops to his knees, his hands on Quinn's thighs. The older couple a row away make a shocked noise, but Bert doesn't even glance over his shoulder. "Come back with me, okay? Jepha and Brand want you to stay there."

"I don't want charity," Quinn says firmly, "I just want to get the fuck out of here." Bert leans in to rest his forehead on Quinn's chest. "Jesus, someone'll see," Quinn whispers.

"Fuck 'em," Bert croaks, and he's not going to cry, but he's hot all over. When he looks up, Quinn is watching him, eyes dark and unsure. "I understand, okay?" he whispers. "I get it, I get that you don't want to just do what they say. I don't either. I wish I could stand on the top of the fucking school and kiss you in front of everybody. But I can't--" Quinn opens his mouth but Bert steamrolls over him. "I can't, and you can't either. And you don't expect me to, and I don't expect _you_ to, and it's okay, it's enough that we know how we feel."

"Aren't you sick of it, though?" Quinn asks, "It's all just one big fucking lie."

Bert nods. "Yeah, of course. But no one's asking you to be anything other than who you are," he says, and Quinn snorts. "Look, Jepha doesn't care, Dan doesn't. I happen to think you're kind of amazing just like this." Bert slides one hand up Quinn's chest and holds it over his heart and Quinn closes his eyes. "Don't go, okay? Just. Hang on two months, and we'll go together, and it'll be perfect."

Quinn takes a few short, shallow breaths and Bert presses his hand down into Quinn's skin, feels his heart beating. He'll get on the damn bus if Quinn does, he knows he will, and it scares him half to death. "Please, Quinn? It's not charity if it's people who love you." His voice shakes, and Quinn crumples forward and wraps his arms around Bert's neck. Bert hugs him tight.

"Okay," Quinn says tightly. "Okay." The couple in the next row get up and move, and Bert laughs into Quinn's neck.

"I love you," Bert says, loud enough that they can hear, because he means it. Fuck them all, they're not going to chase him out of his town. Quinn hugs him tighter.

"Love you too," he murmurs into Bert's neck.

Bert pulls back and grabs for Quinn's bag. "Let's go home."

*

Brendon tries not to feel too out of place in Jepha's house. It's not even dinner time, and there's not a flood of people this time-- just Jepha and Branden, and Dan and Brendon. Waiting. Brendon's not even really sure how he got here; he waved down Branden coming out of the train station and told him about Bert and Quinn and the bus depot, and somehow ended up in the back of Branden's car. Now he's spent the last hour with Dan Whitesides glancing at him speculatively, watching the evening news with a noticeably nervous Branden, who keeps glancing at the front door. Jepha is "stress cooking" (as Dan calls it, before he's promptly pelted with a handful off green beans), and he almost gets why Bert likes it here. They cuss a lot more than any family he's ever seen, but that's what they are. Family.

"So," Dan says when Branden gets up to help set the table -- Jepha insists on six places -- "you and Bert."

"It's complicated," Brendon says, flushing. And it is. He's not sure Bert's really going to forgive him for the letter thing, but he wants to be here. Wants to be supportive somehow. Besides, Bert's mom always wants the car back by nine, even when he's staying over at Brendon's. If nothing else, Brendon can be a decent enough friend to drive the car back, if Bert wants to stay here.

"Yeah, I get that," Dan says, his eyes cutting to where Branden and Jepha circle the table together, always close, but never quite in each other's way. Practiced, Brendon thinks. Comfortable.

"What about you and Jeph?" he asks, even though he thinks he already knows the answer.

Dan gives him a shrug and a half smile. "It is what it is," he says cryptically.

When they hear Bert's car in the driveway, Jepha's out the door like a shot, and Quinn's barely out of the car before Jepha's crushing him in a hug. "You are such a fucking idiot," he says and Quinn just hugs him back tighter. Bert's smile is happy but exhausted. He doesn't even notice Brendon until he's at his side, his arms wrapped around his body like a shield.

"Hey," Brendon says quietly, and Bert opens his mouth, then closes it quickly and leans on the closed car door. "You found him."

"Yeah," Bert says, and the unspoken _no thanks to you_ just hangs between them. Branden gets Quinn's bag and they all trail inside, letting Bert and Brendon have the driveway to themselves. Dan is watching them from the doorway and Brendon feels exposed, raw. He clears his throat.

"Your mom'll want the car back," he says. "I can just drop it off for you, if you want."

"Yeah, okay," Bert still isn't looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he says, and hugs himself tighter. "I just. I guess I just couldn't deal with you not needing me anymore," he says miserably, and it sounds even worse outside his head. Bert looks up sharply.

"It's been a while since I got the idea you needed me at all," he says, and the words aren't angry, but Brendon can see the hurt in Bert's eyes.

"I'm sorry for that too," Brendon manages, the words pushing past the knot in his throat. "Bert, please--"

Bert winds his arms around Brendon's shoulders and Brendon falls into him, arms unfolding to wrap tightly around Bert's waist, tears seeping through to Bert's skin. "We're gonna be okay, right?" Bert whispers roughly against his temple and Brendon nods. They are. They have to be.

Brendon pulls back to see Quinn watching them too, his eyes sharp and wary. The tightness in his chest isn't going away, but Bert is pushing Brendon's hair back and slipping the car keys into his hand. "Stay for dinner," Jepha calls from the doorway, and Brendon almost laughs-- this is more of an audience than he had for the school play last year.

"Thanks, but I should get back," he says, happy that his voice sounds steady and clear. "Maybe next time," he adds, and Bert smiles.

*

The Orem High Prom is the first Saturday in June. Greta wears a green dress with matching ribbons in her hair, her skin milky white and her lips blush pink, and Brendon tells her she looks beautiful as he pins on her corsage. Bert isn't going after all; he and Quinn are going camping in the mountains, and as Brendon pulls his dad's Ford into the parking lot of the high school, he wishes he was with them. Things are still a little weird between Brendon and Quinn, but Brendon's been careful to give them space, to not criticize too much, and Bert chirps at him at lunch again, happy to put things behind them. Quinn puts up with him-- moreso once Bert drags Brendon into the music room at Jepha's one weekend and hands Brendon a guitar. He's only played a few times, but it's easy to make his fingers remember, and Quinn nods as they play, Bert and Brendon harmonizing on old folk tunes they learned at summer camp. Quinn's talented, and Brendon says so. After that, things are a little easier.

"Three weeks until graduation," Greta sighs as they stand in front of the doors to the gym. It's decorated with silvery stars and flowing blue fabrics, an "Under the Stars" theme having won out in the end. Brendon knows Greta's wistfulness is code for 'only three more weeks for Patrick to wake up and notice me', and when he gets inside, Brendon makes a beeline for Patrick and Mikey's table and sits them down. Greta looks flustered, Patrick looks stunned, and Patrick's date Vicky looks relieved. "I'm going to go find Gabe," she announces to the table. (Vicky and Gabe have been dating in secret for over a year, Brendon recently discovered, and Vicky had badgered Patrick into taking her so that her parents would let her out of the house. Vicky also happened to be Greta's best friend. "I don't know what happened!" Patrick had told him the week before, his hands flapping in confusion. Brendon had just smiled at Vicky at lunch and she'd winked back.)

Patrick and Greta start chatting, their chairs turned in to one another, and Patrick can't stop staring at the pale arch of her neck. Brendon smiles down at his plate, feels like he's been a good friend to _someone_ , and it's nice. After dinner, he has to talk to Mr. Murtry for a while about the music conservatory, and dances with a few girls from the drama club. He chats about politics with Spencer, smiles as he tries his best to brush off Audrey. It's exhausting. Brendon retreats after a while to the half-shadows behind the bandstand, leaning against the wall with a cup of watery punch in his hand, watching his class dance awkwardly and laugh and reminisce. It's like watching a movie in a foreign language, and he wonders when he lost the desire to smile like that, to make small talk, to fit in. He'd spent a long time learning how, and now he just... doesn't really want to. "You know what you need," says a voice low and smiling from his side and Brendon looks up to see Dan slouched against the wall next to him. He pulls a silver flask from his pocket after a quick glance around, and pours into Brendon's cup. The first sip makes him wince, but it's an improvement. Dan just bumps his shoulder and nods, disappears to dance with one of the cheerleaders.

Dan finds him a handful more times throughout the night, topping up his drink with a wink. Brendon tries to see if he's sharing with anyone else, but he never catches Dan doing anything but dancing, laughing, getting reprimanded by a teacher for throwing grapes down girls dresses. He watches Dan a lot, thinks about that night in Jepha's kitchen and wonders at how Dan can be so different here, and yet entirely himself. Brendon's almost a little jealous.

Dan doesn't get homecoming king, but he does get Court, and he dances with his pretty blond date, plastic crown perched on top of his head. He looks up once and catches Brendon watching, and Brendon's cheeks flush and he looks away, winding his way through the crowd to the hallway. He's warm everywhere and his limbs feel awkward, clumsy. He stumbles a little getting the doors open, and there's a strong arm around his waist, pulling him upright. "Whoa, there," Dan laughs, his chin propped on Brendon's shoulder.

"Hi," Brendon says stupidly, and all he can feel are Dan's fingers splayed out across his stomach. Dan steadies him on his feet and turns him around.

"Hmm," he says, and Brendon just blinks up at him. Dan's eyes are amber brown, tiny crinkles in the corners from where's he's almost smiling. He's still wearing his crown, falling low over his forehead.

"Sweet prince," he intones in his best Shakespearian tone and Dan bites his lip to keep from laughing.

"Okay, Urie, let's walk this off." He shakes his head and swings an arm around Brendon's shoulders, steadying him as they stroll down the hallway.

"Why're you being so nice to me?" Brendon asks and Dan shrugs down at him.

"Because you're letting me?"

Brendon laughs and rolls his head to rest against Dan's arm. His head feels heavy, but Dan's warm, solid next to him and he bites back a sigh. They're heading down toward the auto shop and Brendon wrinkles his nose. "'S locked down here," he says, and Dan wags his eyebrows, puts one finger to his lips.

"Shh, don't tell," he smiles and pulls his keys from his pocket, opening the door and slipping them both inside before closing shut behind them. Dan doesn't turn on all the lights, just a small desk lamp. He grabs a mug from Mr. Donovan's desk and rinses it out in the sink before filling it up and handing it to Brendon. "Drink up," he says and Brendon takes a cautious sip. Dan pulls himself up on one of the work tables and tugs his crown off, working his fingers back through his hair. "Bert and Quinn off in the woods?" he asks.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Doing things nature never intended, yes," he says, but he's grinning and Dan grins back. The water is waking him up from his haze a little, and he can feel Dan's eyes on him as he raises the mug with both hands, tips his head back to finish it. When he puts the mug down, he sees polished cylinder and picks it up, turning it over in his hands. Dan moves fast, jumping down from his perch and catching a second cylinder that had been nestled inside before it can hit the ground. "Fuck, sorry," Brendon says with wide eyes and Dan takes the parts from him and puts them back on the desk.

"It's fine," Dan says, a little breathless. "Just. Don't touch that. Or, anything, actually." Brendon looks around. He's never actually been in the shop before. It's spacious, but cluttered-- a hundred different things Brendon couldn't name sticking out of boxes and hanging from the walls. Some of them look pretty dangerous.

"Okay," he says, and when he looks back, Dan is still standing close enough that he has to tip his head back to see his face. Dan's looking at him strangely, lips parted a little, and Brendon sways forward a little. Dan catches his hip with one big hand and holds him still. "Okay," Brendon says again, barely a whisper, and Dan leans down to press their lips together.

Dan's lips are soft and he tastes like whiskey and ice cream. His hand is still warm on Brendon's side, and when he slips it around a little to rest on Brendon's lower back, Brendon reaches up on his toes and winds an arm around Dan's neck. Dan groans and Brendon can feel it in his fingers, down into the bottom of his stomach. He moves Brendon back a step, then another, until Brendon's back hits the edge of the worktable, and suddenly Dan's arms are tight around his waist and Brendon's feet are off the floor. He gasps and Dan slides him back until he's sitting on the top of the bench, Dan standing between his legs, finally at eye level. "You're really fucking short," he grins and Brendon laughs, leans in to kiss him again.

"Yeah, well, you're gigantic," he murmurs against Dan's lips and slips his hands under Dan's jacket, pulling him closer. Dan doesn't answer; he breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down Brendon's jaw, tongue pressing against his pulse. Brendon shudders and arches his head back, giving him more room. Dan tugs at Brendon's jacket until it's off his shoulders and Brendon does the rest, tossing it haphazardly into a corner. He lets Dan pull back for a moment to shed his own jacket and loosen his tie, and then tucks his leg around Dan's thigh and pulls him back. Brendon feels giddy, breathless, his lips tender and buzzing. He's already half-hard and all he wants is Dan's hands back on him, anywhere, everywhere. "This is crazy," he says, but he's already pulling Dan in for another kiss, fingers wound in his tie.

"Absolutely," Dan manages with a laugh, and this time the kiss is more frantic, Brendon's body screaming for more. Dan manages to get Brendon's tie undone along with the first three buttons on his shirt, and Brendon's hips jerk forward when Dan sucks hard at his clavicle.

"Oh, God," he whimpers, his fingers threaded tight in Dan's hair. Dan's hands are restless on Brendon's thighs, sliding over them in wide arcs. When his knuckles bump over the hard ridge of Brendon's dick, they both moan. Dan's hand lingers, a barely-there pressure on the outside of his slacks, and Brendon's whole body feels tight and hot, tiny earthquakes settling at the base of his spine.

"Can I...," Dan starts, his eyes unfocused, pupils blown. He leans in, presses his nose to Brendon's throat. "Wanna suck you off," he says into Brendon's skin, and Brendon shivers.

"Have you--" Brendon asks, and his voice is shot, rough and needy all at once. Dan nods, his hair slipping into his eyes, and Brendon swallows hard. "Yeah, if you want," he says and Dan doesn't take his eyes off Brendon's face as he pulls at his belt, tugs open his pants.

"Here, like this," Dan says and pulls Brendon off the counter and onto his feet. Brendon reaches back to hold on to the table top with both hands-- his knees already feel like jello, even before Dan drops gracelessly to his knees and pulls his slacks down, inch by inch, his mouth hot on Brendon's pelvis. Brendon's eyes are wide, unblinking, as his dick pulls free, the tip already glistening. Brendon's not huge, he knows that from years of gym showers, and Dan's hand is big enough to wrap fully around him, one dry tug making Brendon's fingers curl around the edge of the counter. "Okay?" Dan asks and all Brendon can do is nod, biting his lip hard to keep from screaming as Dan runs the plane of tongue over the head of Brendon's cock.

" _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ ," Brendon mutters, eyes closing for a second as Dan's mouth closes around him and sucks hard. He's suddenly completely sober and totally out of his head all at once, his knuckles white from the effort of holding himself up. Everything is strange-- the room, Dan's wide mouth stretched around him, the tiny grunts and whimpers he's pulling from Brendon's mouth-- but it feels so amazingly _right_ that Brendon can't stop a tiny laugh. Dan glances up at him, eyes dancing, when he rolls his tongue around the head of Brendon's cock, thumb pressing into that perfect sweet spot right underneath, Brendon comes so hard he can't breathe for a second, every nerve ending in his body suddenly on fire. His knees give out entirely, but Dan is there to break his fall, propping him up on his knees before leaning away and spitting into the trash can under the table. Brendon groans and tucks his face into Dan's neck.

Dan's hand is warm and solid on his back and Brendon takes a minute to get his bearings. When he opens his eyes, he can see Dan's cock pushing hard against his fly. His fingers feel clumsy and out of place as he reaches down, but Dan's stomach tightens as his palm folds around it. "Bren," he says, and it sounds a little lost. Brendon looks up at his face, smiling and sated, and gives enough of a squeeze that Dan gasps. "Brendon, what--"

"I want to--" Brendon starts, thinks _do that, taste you, make you come_ , but he's not sure how to ask.

"Anything, whatever," Dan says, eyes closing as his hips jerk up against Brendon's hand. Brendon unbuckles his belt slowly, and Dan is panting, short, shallow breaths against Brendon's temple. Dan stays still but Brendon can feel his muscles quivering under his hands, strong and solid, and Brendon rucks his shirt up, leans down to kiss along Dan's ribs, mouth trailing up to one small nipple. Dan's hand curls around the back of Brendon's neck and he hisses at the touch of Brendon's tongue. Dan tastes clean, like soap and salt, and Brendon hums into his skin, slips his fingers past the button on Dan's jeans and revels in the small choked sounds Dan makes when Brendon's fingers find hot skin. _I could make him come, just like this_ , Brendon thinks suddenly, and it's a powerful thought, awesome and huge.

But it's not enough. He tips up to kiss Dan once, deep and slow, his fingers barely trailing over Dan's cock. "I've never--" he starts and Dan is shaking his head.

"'s okay, this is--"

"Want to," Brendon interrupts. "Just don't want to mess up," he grins and Dan's eyes roll up in amusement.

"Just like sucking on a p-popsicle," Dan grits out as Brendon tugs his slacks open.

Brendon snorts. The frantic edge is gone, and he has most of his brain cells working again, and he really just wants to do this _right_. "I somehow doubt that," he says with a wry grin and Dan bites his lip and raises one hand to Brendon's face, his thumb rubbing against Brendon's bottom lip.

"Stop thinking so much," he says, mostly serious, and Brendon's tongue traces the pad of his finger, feather-light over rough skin. Dan pushes just a fraction, until his thumb slips past Brendon's lips. He sucks gently, then a little more, and Dan says "just like that, fuck". It's almost more intimate than before, the way their eyes lock as Dan pushes in slowly, and Brendon's flutter as his cheeks hollow. It isn't like a popsicle at _all_ \-- it's all texture and heat-- but it's not hard to make Dan gasp a little and bite his lip and Brendon thinks... he really does need to stop thinking so much. He pulls back until Dan's thumb slips free with a wet pop, and his hands are back on Dan's slacks, pushing them down around his knees.

"How do you--" he starts, but Dan is already tipping back, hissing as his bare ass hits the cold concrete floor. He stretches his legs out and Brendon straddles his thighs, and pauses. Dan's cock is hard and heavy against his stomach, and way the hell bigger than his thumb. Dan just reaches out and tugs Brendon's hand up until Brendon wraps his fist snuggly around the base. "Ungh," Dan grunts, his back arching a little off the floor as Brendon tugs. He grabs Brendon's wrist to stop him, says "Lick your hand" and Brendon does, surprised at the bitter tang on his palm. The next stroke is easier, though, and Dan sighs and let's Brendon set his own pace, each stroke getting slicker as Dan's cock leaks precome into Brendon's fingers.

Brendon's own cock is already half-hard again, just from the sounds Dan is making, breathy moans and half-formed curses. He leans down finally and just tastes, the salt-bitter not a shock, but definitely something he's not used to. His tongue slips over the head, dipping between the web of his fingers. "Move your hand down like..." Dan says quietly and Brendon gets it, lets his fingers slide into the coarse hair at the base and wraps his lips around Dan's cock, sliding down as much as he can before pulling back with a wet pop. His eyes sting a little at the corners. "Not too fast," Dan warns.

It's instinctual, Brendon learns pretty fast. He finds the things he can do with his tongue, his hands, that make Dan's hips jerk, make him say "yes, oh" and does them again and again. His jaw muscles burn a little, but that keeps Brendon's mind off his own dick, keeps him from reaching a hand between his legs. "Can you," Dan pants, almost pleading, "just." He reaches his own hand down but Brendon understands a second before it gets there and moans a little around Dan's cock, using his free hand to stroke his balls lightly, roll them over his palm once, twice. "Oh, fuck, Bren," Dan grits out, and Brendon can feel hot ropes of come against his tongue, the smell of it filling his nose and he swallows without thinking and pulls back with a gasp, pressing his forehead to Dan's stomach and just breathing deep and slow.

Dan doesn't move other than to slip his fingers into Brendon's hair, clumsy petting that makes Brendon smile against his skin. "See," he finally says, and Brendon can hear the grin in his voice. "Just like a popsicle."

Brendon rolls his eyes and sits up, wiping his hand on the back of his shirt. "Yeah, not at _all_ ," he says. Dan tucks himself back into his pants and props himself up on his elbows.

"Did you _swallow_?" he asks, and Brendon shrugs.

"Spitting is disgusting," he says, and when Dan starts to laugh Brendon whacks him in the side lightly. "Shut up, it _is_!" he says defensively, but Dan is flat on his back, his stomach shaking with laughter and Brendon can't help the giddy laugh that bubbles out of his chest.

"You... holy shit, I can't even," Dan gasps, eyes shining.

Brendon says "You suck," and Dan says " _You_ suck" and then they're both in hysterics, laying side by side on the floor of the auto shop, prom clothes rumpled all over the floor.

"Well," Brendon says a few minutes later when he can finally breathe, "this wasn't exactly how I pictured tonight."

Dan turns to look at him, one arm propped under his head. "Good though, right?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and it really was.

They manage to find all their clothes and get them on correctly, even if Dan's tie is uneven and Brendon's jacket is a wrinkled mess. Brendon grabs the crown off the desk and places it on Dan's head, slightly askew. "Can't forget your cunning disguise," he says and Dan kisses him fast, just a warm press of his lips, before he's cracking the door open and pulling Brendon back into the hallway.

*

Bert and Quinn don't make it back in time for Temple the Sunday after prom—Bert will blame it on muddy roads but really it's that neither one of them wanted to untangle themselves from the warmth of the tent, and each other. He drops Quinn off at Jepha's just as Branden is shuffling outside to mow the lawn. He's in cutoffs and not much else, and Quinn points out Jepha watching from the window. "Brand's never going to get a clue," Quinn says with a fond sigh and Bert leans in to kiss him before he gets out of the car. Quinn's grin turns into a grimace as he pulls back, and he tugs at Bert's shirt, pulling it closed at the neck. "Sorry, hickey."

"You're an ass," Bert says and rests his head on the steering wheel. It's too hot to wear collared shirts anymore, and Quinn knows it. Quinn just laughs.

Bert doesn't stay for lunch, and he's surprised to see Brendon sitting on his front stoop as he pulls into the driveway. "Everyone's at my brother's game," he says as he gets out of the car and Brendon nods.

"Yeah, I figured."

"What's up?" Bert asks, because it's been a while since Brendon's come to see him like this. They're doing good, good enough that Brendon made the call to UoP last week to make sure they get to room together in the fall, but Bert senses that something big is happening from the way Brendon's knee vibrates when Bert sits down on the step next to him.

"Can we… inside?" he says quietly, and Bert's heart starts to beat faster, but Brendon stands almost too close as he unlocks the door so Bert thinks this isn't about them. This is about Brendon.

They settle side by side on Bert's bed, backs against the wall, and Brendon rests his head on Bert's shoulder, but he doesn't talk. Bert takes his hand and Brendon squeezes hard. "Come on," he prods quietly. "The walls don't have ears."

"I'm sorry, about all the Quinn stuff," he says, and Bert presses his cheek against the top of Brendon's head.

"I know."

Brendon takes a deep breath, then another one. "I think. I mean, I think it was because I was scared."

"Okay," Bert says. "Scared of me leaving you?"

"Sort of," Brendon shrugs. He threads their fingers together, then apart, then together again. "Sort of that I worried people would think I was like you. Like that. If anyone found out."

"Oh," Bert says, and he aches a little in the center of his chest, but Brendon squeezes his hand again, won't let him let go.

"I am, you know," he says, almost a whisper. Bert closes his eyes. He knew, of course he did, if he thinks about it. He and Brendon weren't the same, but they were always different in the same ways, always working just a little too hard, always just a fraction behind the curve when it came to girls and crushes, dirty talk in the locker room. The ache in Bert's chest blooms into this warm glow, and he thinks he can finally pay Brendon back for teaching him how to belong. He can teach Brendon how to belong to a whole other world. "Bert?" Brendon says, worried, and Bert shifts down to he can see Brendon's face.

"Okay," he says, grinning, and Brendon's eyes are watery, but his smile is real. Bert hugs him tight, and he can feel the tension seeping out of Brendon's shoulders.

"I sort of—" Brendon says in to Bert's neck, his voice wavering but amused. "I mean, I kind of kissed a boy. Last night."

Bert goes stock still, and Brendon's shoulders tense again. It's fine, Bert thinks, but Brendon can't just let anyone… "Who?" he asks and Brendon pulls back, winds his fingers in the hem of his shirt. It's a nervous tick that he's had forever, and Bert puts a hand over his to stop it. "You don't have to tell me, that's not—"

"Dan," Brendon says, and when he cuts his eyes up to Bert's face, he lets out a surprised giggle. The look on Bert's face must be priceless, but he can't help it.

"You _hate_ Dan," Bert reminds him, and Brendon shrugs.

"Not really," he says, smiling, and Bert can see the blush high on his cheeks.

"Holy _shit_ ," Bert says, laughing, and Brendon shoves lightly at his shoulder. Bert likes Dan a lot; Bert actually kind of _adores_ Dan-- the way he sometimes just picks Bert up and tosses him over his shoulder, the way he smiles whenever Quinn sits across Bert's lap at Jepha's. If Brendon is going to start kissing boys, Dan is kind of an excellent choice. "So you don't think he's the devil anymore?" he kids and Brendon pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face in them. "Tell meeee," Bert goads and pokes Brendon in the side until he squirms. Brendon wants to talk about it, Bert knows he wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't, and it only takes a minute of tickling to get Brendon to says "okay, fine, stop!"

"He snuck us into the auto shop," Brendon says, still not looking right at Bert, but grinning a little to himself.

"He snuck you in to make out?"

"He snuck us in because he got me a little drunk," Brendon says, cutting his eyes to Bert. Bert shakes his head, eyes wide.

"Man, I so should have gone to prom," he says, because Brendon drunk is something Bert would pay actual money to see. He turns and sits indian-style, facing Brendon, and leans his elbows on his knees. "So, was there sexy car talk, or did he just plant one on you?"

"Mostly the second," Brendon shrugs and shifts his gaze back to his knees. His blush is deeper now, and his grin isn't as wide, and Bert wraps a hand around Brendon's ankle and shakes.

"Come on, share," he says softly, because something happened, something else, and Brendon needs to talk it out. Brendon can't ever fully process anything until he's talked about it, and Bert is used to being his sounding board.

"It was more than kissing," he says quietly. "I mean, the kissing was kind of amazing," he adds quickly, looking up to make sure Bert believes him. Bert nods. Brendon looks back at his knees. "It was really amazing," he repeats, grin slowly returning. He pauses for a second. "So, have you, um. Did Quinn ever give you a blowjob?" he asks with forced nonchalance.

Bert blinks, and when Brendon looks up at him, face bright pink, Bert can't help it. He laughs hard enough that Brendon falls over face first into Bert's pillow, embarrassed. Bert crawls up the bed to snuggle close to him.

"Blowjobs are _awesome_ ," Bert whispers, still giggling, and Brendon peeks out at him.

"Totally awesome."

*

Patrick had offered to drive Greta home since Vicky went without him to the afterparty at Cash's, so Brendon drove himself home the night of prom. All he could think about was Dan, and he was so hard that he had to pull over and jerk off in the car around the block from his house. He felt dirty when his mom hugged him at the door, and his father smirked at him knowingly, taking in his rumpled clothes and flushed cheeks. He took a long, hot shower and made it almost all the way through before he imagined Dan's mouth on the back of his neck, strong arms slipping around his waist and down, down. Brendon didn't even know his body could _do_ that three times in one night, and he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

After his talk with Bert, about boys and blowjobs and "oh, yeah, Quinn shot twice in ten minutes once," he feels like less of a freak, but now his fantasies about Dan are technicolor, full of details Brendon almost didn't want to know but Bert told him anyway, about positions and safety measures and what to do with his hands.

Brendon's got butterflies on Monday morning as he walks into school. He doesn't have a single class with Dan, which is probably good, since he has finals in two of his classes this week, and Brendon finds he's distracted just knowing Dan's in the same building. He doesn't see him until after lunch, just a pass in the hallway, and Brendon feels his cheeks heat up. "Hey," he nods, using every ounce of courage he can muster.

Dan barely looks at him.

Brendon spends half the next period in the boy's bathroom, just trying to remember how to breathe. "Hey, what--" Bert whispers as he slips into his seat in history. Brendon just shakes his head, stares straight ahead, and tries to remember why he hated Dan Whitesides. Hating him would be really convenient right now.

They have rehearsal after school, since the quartet will be performing at graduation. Brendon just wants to go home, but he can't miss this. He can't fuck up his GPA, his social standing, his extracurriculars. He can't fuck up his life, not even if all of it seems _wrong_ now, ill-fitting and chafing. He's almost to the music hall when Dan corners him, eyes scanning to make sure the hall is clear. Brendon tries to step around him but Dan wraps a hand around his arm. Brendon's heart speeds up; it's like he's twelve again on the playground, and Dan is about to swing at his stomach. "Brendon--"

"What?" Brendon grits out, tight and angry, and Dan's jaw clenches and he's pulling Brendon into an empty art room. "Let me _go_ ," Brendon hisses and Dan just presses him against the inside of the door.

"'m sorry," Dan says when Brendon's hands press on his shoulders, trying and failing to push him back. "Stop, hey, come on." He takes Brendon's hands and pins his wrists to the door above his head. "Listen to me," he says and Brendon stills. He's breathing hard and fast and Dan leans in to press their foreheads together. "We can't let them see," he starts and stops, frowns at the floor. "We've got three weeks," he says quietly. "Three weeks, then the summer, and all we have to do keep our heads down until then, all right?" Dan runs his thumb over Brendon's wrist. "In this building--"

"--we're not friends," Brendon finishes, because he finally gets it. Dan Whitesides palling around with Brendon Urie would raise a lot more questions than Brendon wants to think about. Dan gives him a wry half-smile.

"At least not where people can see," he says and leans in to kiss Brendon's jaw. "'m sorry," he says again, and Brendon tips his head to catch Dan's mouth. Dan groans and lets go of Brendon's wrists to slip his fingers into his hair, pull him closer. Brendon's arms wind around his neck.

"'S'okay," he murmurs and Dan smiles. "Three weeks."

They kiss until Brendon is half-hard, until Dan's hand is snaked up the back of his shirt, rough against his skin. Brendon whimpers, tilts his hips up, and Dan takes a step back. His eyes are inky black and Brendon wonders if his mouth looks as wet and bruised as Dan's. He bites his lip. "Okay, I'm going to get out of here before we get in some serious trouble," Dan says, voice a little shaky. He kisses him one more time and slips out the door.

Brendon is nearly fifteen minutes late to rehearsal. Patrick is talking to Greta, and Mikey is reading a book, and no one notices but Bert who just says "your shirt's untucked" with a knowing wink. Brendon can make three weeks, no problem. He tucks his shirt in and clears his throat.

*

Jepha throws them a graduation barbecue the weekend before they graduate. "Your damn parents will kidnap you for that whole week," he grouses by way of explanation, and Bert hugs him tight around the middle. It's a small party; just the six of them, plus Bob and his boyfriend Frank, who came down from Sandy. Bob never mentioned Frank to Bert-- Bert only found out when he asked Jepha why Bob hung out there sometimes and not others. Jepha says they met the year before at an away game for the baseball team. Frank's a year younger, and he's the Sandy High baseball team's equipment manager ("ask Bob-- I am _great_ at managing other guys' equipment"). He's short-- almost as short as Bert-- and makes Bob blush more than Jepha, crawls in his lap and says "Bob ever tell you about that time we went skinny dipping and someone stole our clothes?" Bert likes Frank a lot.

It's a massive spread-- burgers and hot dogs, coleslaw and potato salad, three bean salad and baked beans. They all want a turn at the grill but Branden glares if they get too close. Jepha takes rolls of pictures, only half of which would be fit for company, and Jepha complains that he'll have to drive a hundred miles to be able to get them developed without scandal. He does manage to get one of all of them, minus Frank who volunteers to take the picture. "Family portraits are the shit," Frank says as he snaps it, and Bert is sure he'll be laughing in that one, Quinn's hand stuffed discreetly in his back pocket.

Brendon and Dan are weirdly quiet around each other, but they disappear after an hour or so and Bert laughs to himself. He elbows Quinn in the side when he comes stumbling around to the patio from the side yard, eyes wide. He says, "Did you know Brendon and Dan--"

"Leave it alone," Jepha says, handing the tongs to Branden, but Bert thinks he looks oddly happy.

"Leave what alone?" Branden asks, and Jepha's smile slips just a little.

"You _knew_ ," Quinn says to Bert, and Bert just shrugs. Quinn glares at him for a second before leaning in to whisper "Wanna go watch them make out?"

Bert kind of really does, but he also thinks that would be wrong on a number of fronts, so he tries his best to look shocked and appalled. Quinn just laughs at him. Bert leans in to kiss Quinn quickly, just a peck on the corner of his mouth, and when he looks up Branden is looking pointedly away, cheeks pink. Jepha leans in and hooks his chin over Branden's shoulder, whispering something that makes him grin and shake his head. Branden looks relaxed when Jepha pulls away, but Jepha's shoulders slump a little as he walks inside to get more lemonade.

They all eat squashed around Branden and Jeph's picnic table, eight boys all talking over each other. It reminds Bert of dinners at home, comfortable in it's loudness. They talk about baseball and graduation plans, how hard Mr. Miller's final exams are, and how long it will be before Cash bangs up the new car his dad got him as a graduation gift. They talk about future plans too. Bob is going to BYU.

"Just for a year," he says pointedly and Frank laughs.

"Yeah, big man, then we're blowing this pop stand," Frank says, and sticks a hot dog lewdly in his mouth. Bert likes Frank _a lot_.

When Quinn brings up the fact that he's still looking for a job near San Francisco, Dan pipes up with "I think my Uncle might have a lead on something near Berkeley. Could be work enough for two." Bert's pretty sure Quinn's blinding grin is only matched by the blush across Brendon's cheeks.

"I-I mean, it might not work out," Dan says, when he notices, and Bert kicks at Brendon's foot under the table.

"I hope it does," Brendon says not quite meeting Dan's eyes. Dan grins and Brendon tries not to grin back and fails, and Jepha shakes his head.

"Okay, all of you, more eating, less talking," Branden cuts in. He puts his hand over Jepha's and points his knife around the table. "Jepha and I didn't slave over hot stoves for you to not--"

But no one hears him over the roar of laughter and the calls of "dibs on the burned hot dog" and "if you eat the rest of that I will stab you with this fork."

They all pile back in the house after they eat, most of the group sprawled out in front of the television to watch a Dodgers game. Brendon escapes to the dining table and Bert rolls his eyes when he takes out a notebook and opens it up. "You know this is a party," Bert says, peeking over his shoulder. Brendon covers the page with his hand.

"Just, I had a bit of inspiration at dinner," he says. He's been working on his valedictorian speech for nearly a week, and he won't let anyone look at it, not even Bert. Bert just ruffles his hair and follows Jepha to the kitchen with more dirty dishes in hand.

Bert thinks he's the only one who notices how quiet Jeph's been most of the day, but Quinn catches him on the way out, hand on his hip, and says "Is he okay?"

"Dunno," Bert answers. He'd chalked it up to Jepha being sentimental about graduation, but Quinn's eyes cut to Branden across the room. Branden looks totally comfortable with Bob and Dan on either side of him on the couch, Frank curled up half in Bob's lap.

Jepha sweeps past Bert and Quinn to hand Branden a cold bottle of pop. "You are the greatest, seriously," Branden says and Jepha smiles.

"Eh, I'm okay." He takes a step and Branden's hand folds around his wrist.

"Stay for some of the game," he says and Jepha nods toward the kitchen where the dishes are piled up. "Fuck 'em, they'll still be there." Branden gives a hard tug on Jepha's wrist until he's stumbling down into Branden's lap.

"Oh, I'm sure this is comfortable," Jepha says with an eye roll, and Branden just hooks his arm around Jepha's waist and grins at the television as the game starts up again. Jepha closes his eyes and swallows, barely letting himself lean back into Branden's chest. Bert hears Quinn huff in frustration behind him.

"They're just so...," he whispers when Bert looks at him, and Bert nods. He's not sure what they were like before this house became the hot bed of boys who are secretly dating, not sure how this all even happened, beyond Jepha being pretty much the best person Bert's ever met, and he wonders guiltily if having all of them around makes it harder for Jepha. Branden is great, but he's blind and possibly stupid if he can't see how Jepha feels about him, and he still does stuff like this, holding Jepha a little too close, acting like an old married couple when that's as far from the truth as you can get.

He watches the rest of the night, and for every comfortable touch that passes between himself and Quinn, Bob and Frank, even Brendon and Dan, there's one between Jepha and Branden that seems both natural and not enough, and Bert can read the frustration in the tired lines around Jepha's eyes.

Bert doesn't ask anyone before he does it, but when he's hugging Jepha goodbye, he says, quietly, "You could come, you know. To California."

Jepha hooks an arm around his neck. "You bet your ass we'll come visit," he says with an easy smile and Bert shakes his head, looks over to where Quinn and Dan are standing, Dan's hand light and low on Brendon's back.

"No, I mean. For good. You should come with us. Meet some new people," he says lamely, and hopes his meaning comes through. He knows Jepha would defend Branden to the death, and Bert loves Branden too, but. "It's gonna be boring without us," he says, trying for levity, and Jepha shakes his head. He's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Nah, I think I'm pretty settled in here," he replies and Bert sighs.

"You could, though. Just. Think about it." He doesn't want to push, but it's an open invite. He'll tell Quinn later, but he's sure Quinn and Dan won't mind a third roommate.

"I'm fine," Jepha says with feeling, and Bert can see where he's looking over at Branden. "Sometimes it's just... I'm fine. Everything's good. I'm not in a hurry to run off anywhere," he says firmly and Bert shakes his head.

"Home is where the heart is, I guess," he says with a smile and Jepha grins ruefully at him.

"Something like that."

*

Graduation day is surreal. Brendon barely registers anything until he's sitting on the podium, fingers folded around the notecards in his hands. It's all a blur of caps and gowns, his dad complaining about the lack of decent parking at the high school, his mom dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Bert giggling manically in his ear as they hug. The Class of '60 sits in folding chairs on the football field, and Brendon can see their faces behind the tassles, excited and teary. The quartet sings first, a rendition of the school song followed by Patrick's fabulous arrangement of "Moments to Remember". Half the girls in class are sniffling at the end of it, and Bert catches Brendon's eye with a smile as he walks back down to his seat.

Waiting through speeches by the principal and the school superintendent, Brendon scans the crowd. Orem's a small town, so nearly everyone is here, including Jepha and Branden sitting with a woman who looks like she might be Quinn's mom. Brendon hopes so. He catches Dan's eye once, and Dan winks at him. Brendon is so flustered he almost misses his introduction by Dr. Anspaugh.

"Our graduation speech this year is given by our most outstanding pupil, Brendon Boyd Urie. Brendon has brought the gifts of intelligence, good humor, musical excellence, grace, and upstanding morality to Orem High over the last four years, and I am glad to congratulate him as this years valedictorian."

Brendon can't risk looking at Dan after the morality comment, and he can't risk looking at his parents either. He finds Bert in the sea of blue and gold, and Bert gives him a thumbs up. Brendon's heart is racing as he tips the microphone down enough to speak into it, shuffling his cards into order.

He gets through the first part of the speech on automatic, thanking the right people, mentioning the football team and the math team and the many honors the school's had during Brendon's tenure. When he gets to the last part, the part he wrote at Jepha's dining table, he pauses and looks up. Bert is still watching him, head tilted, and Dan is too. Quinn is in the front row, slumped low in his chair, and he's not looking at Brendon, but he hopes he's listening. Brendon takes a deep breath.

>   
> I know we've spent the last day, week, year, four years, eighteen years, excited about this day. This is the day your whole life changes. This is the day you finally come into your own. You've worked hard to get here, all of you, and I know what you're thinking. Some of you are thinking "Thank God I've survived." Some of you are thinking "This is the best day of my life." Some of you are thinking "When will this guy shut up so I can get out of this robe."
> 
> All of us are thinking we've made it. All of us are thinking we know who we are, now.
> 
> All of us are wrong.
> 
> We've spent the last four years being the people we were told to be. We've spend the last four years only sort of getting to know the people around us. I'm telling you now, we've only scratched the surface. Look at the person next to you. Really look at them. In a year, in ten, in thirty, is that person going to be the same person they are now? Do you know their dreams, the ones they think about late at night, the ones they wish for on every birthday candle?
> 
> Do they even know?
> 
> If there is one thing I have learned recently, it's that I don't know much at all. It's been a pretty hard lesson for a guy like me, a scary one, and it didn't have anything to do with grades, or school dances, or sports scores. I don't know very much about any of you. I don't know very much about myself. And today, leaving this place, I'm finding myself adrift with these big question marks hovering over my life. Who do I want to be? What do I want to become?
> 
> I'm guessing a lot of you have those same question marks, that sea-sick feeling of "what now" when you wake up in the morning.
> 
> The answer to those question marks is going to be different for everyone.  
> 

When Brendon looks up, Quinn is staring right at him, and Brendon exhales, cuts his eyes over to Bob, to Patrick and Greta, to Vicky, to Dan, to Jepha and Branden in the stands. He blinks away the hotness behind his eyes and stares right at Bert, not even glancing back down at his cards.

>   
> But the best thing you can do is find an anchor. Find two or four, or a dozen. Find things that make you happy, people who can help you see new things about yourself. Don't be afraid to look in strange places for your anchors-- new places, new friends, new jobs, new schools. I've found a few in the strangest places... Don't be afraid to see new things about yourself, about your best friend, about the people you thought you knew. Don't be afraid of being afraid. Don't be afraid to ask questions. Don't be afraid of the answers once you figure them out. Don't be afraid of your own face in the mirror, even when it looks like someone else.
> 
> What I'm really trying to say is this: Don't cling to who you are now. Who you are now isn't who you are. You aren't the jock, you aren't the brain, you aren't the weird kid, or the prom king. As of today, you aren't anything at all. Accept it. Embrace it. This isn't the end of anything; this is just the beginning.  
> 

  
***********

  
EPILOGUE:

Branden wasn't supposed to overhear, he's pretty sure. But the kitchen windows are open and he is washing his hands after helping Dan tighten the hitch connecting their small trailer to Dan's car, and he doesn't mean to listen, but...

"You're sure?" Bert asks, and Jepha's laugh is a little sad.

"You know I'm not built for that much sun."

"It's an open invitation, you can move in any time," Quinn says seriously, and Branden turns the water off, frowning.

"Thank you," Jepha says sincerely, and his next words are muffled, like he's hugging one of them tight. "I'm. It's getting better," he says, and Branden can hear the tension in his voice, the forced cheerfulness that means he's lying. Bert can apparently hear it too, since he snorts.

"At least come out and get laid once in a while," Quinn says and Jepha laughs, surprised.

"I'll do that," he replies and Branden loses the conversation as they walk back to the car. The four of them-- Quinn and Bert, Dan and Brendon-- take off just after breakfast for the long drive to Berkeley. Branden and Jepha wave from the driveway until they can't see the car anymore.

Jepha leans into his side, sniffling melodramatically. "Our boys are all grown up," he sobs, and Branden squeezes his arm and laughs. Jepha's eyes are shining, though, so Branden's pretty sure it's not all an act.

Branden's not sure why, but he can't get the conversation he overheard out of his head. He spends most of the day in the music room, bashing on his kit, wondering if they really asked Jepha to move out to California with them, wondering why they hadn't asked him. Jepha said it was "getting better", and Branden doesn't want to think about when things got _worse_ , and how he missed it. He and Jepha have been best friends for four years, ever since they kicked a pair of roughnecks out of Jepha's bar his first week on the job. They've been living together for almost as long in this tiny house Branden bought from his grandmother as soon as he had the money to take over the mortgage, and things were... good. Great. They're a terrible twosome, and Jepha makes sure they eat real food, and Branden makes sure the front steps get fixed every spring, and they're happy. Or Branden's happy.

Jepha's always been unhappy on and off, in his quiet Jepha way, but Branden doesn't press it when he is. He just gives Jeph some space, goes for a long weekend in the mountains, or up to visit his sister in Salt Lake, and when he comes back Jepha smiles and says "Missed you" and things are okay for a while again.

But now he thinks there is more to it, more than he's seeing if Bert and Quinn are worried enough about him to take him away from Orem... to take him away from Branden. He's noticed that Jepha's been acting oddly these last few months, glowing and happy when the boys were around, brooding and quiet when they weren't. Branden tried to cheer him up once, suggesting a camping trip, just the two of them, but Jepha had looked almost stricken at the idea and Branden hastily let it go.

He doesn't say anything all through dinner, just watches as Jepha manages to pass him the mashed potatoes without touching him, to talk to him about work without ever really meeting Branden's eyes. He's sick to his stomach by the end, his pot roast barely touched, and Jepha frowns at him. "You okay?"

"They asked you to go to California," he blurts out without thinking and Jepha's eyes widen and then narrow.

"Yeah, they're saps who said they'd miss me too much," he obviously lies, and Branden swallows hard.

"They didn't ask me," he says quietly, and Jepha forces a smile.

"Maybe they'll miss me more." He gets up and starts clearing the table, loud clanks of silverware on dishes cutting off any conversation.

Branden takes two, three, four deep breaths at the empty table. Something is _wrong_ , and Branden isn't going to fool himself into thinking he doesn't know what it is. There's something in Jepha's eyes whenever he really looks at Branden, something dark and sad. It used to be hot, glinting off Branden's arms, his shoulders, his mouth, and it had scared the shit out of him when they first met, this current of something between them that Branden couldn't put a name to. He'd never connected with anyone like he did with Jepha, like he was an extra limb that Branden hadn't known he was living without, but that heat in Jepha's eyes always made Branden look away quickly.

Nothing ever came of it, though. Jepha never pushed Branden for more than he could give, never pushed him for anything, and the heat dulled down over the years until Branden thought he must have been imagining it. But this past year, he started seeing it again-- not in Jepha but in Quinn, every time he looked at Bert, in Brendon's eyes when Dan wasn't watching, even once as Dan's gaze followed Jepha around the room. (The next night, Branden had started a fight at a bar, nearly broke a kid's nose when he pinched a waitress's ass.) Now, Jepha's eyes just look sad, resigned, and Branden feels like the biggest tool on the planet.

He pushes away from the table and walks into the kitchen, head down like he's heading for a fight. Jepha is putting the plates away on a high shelf and Branden traps him against the counter, hands on either side of his hips.

"Why aren't you going to California?" he says, and he's not sure why he's angry. He doesn't _want_ Jepha to go, the thought of Jepha leaving makes his jaw clench, but he can't be staying for...

"I live here," Jepha says, surprised, and Branden growls.

"Jeph," he says. "Come on."

"Don't be an ass," Jepha says, annoyed. Branden takes another step closer. "Don't, just. What do you want me to say?"

"I just--" Branden says, because he doesn't know. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. But at least Jepha is _looking_ at him. "Are you even happy here?" Jepha blinks at him, then cuts his eyes across the room. It's not like Branden didn't know, but Jepha's silence is like a punch to the gut. "Jeph--" he says, pained, and Jepha sighs.

"I'm happier here than I would be anywhere else," he says quietly.

"Why?" Branden asks, because he has to. Jepha looks up, and his smile is anything but kind.

"Don't try to pull your 'big and dumb' routine with me, Brand. I've known you a long time. You know exactly why."

It's as close to talking about this as they've ever gotten, and Branden wishes Jepha weren't so closed right now, weren't so angry. _Well, if you hadn't waited four fucking years_ , a little voice in his head sneers at him, and Branden swallows hard.

"Jepha, I don't. I'm not...," he's got no idea what to say.

"Don't worry about it," Jepha says with a forced smile, and Branden want to smack it off his face. He curls his fingers around the edge of the countertop.

"God _damn_ it, Jepha, I'm trying--" he bites out, but Jepha talks right over him.

"I'm serious, we'll just forget about it, okay? I'm not leaving town. And I'm not asking... I'm not going to _push_ , okay?" Jepha sounds angry, a little desperate, and Branden presses in closer. "Why are you--"

"Why not?" Branden asks, and his throat hurts a little, his voice low and strained.

"Why not what?" Jepha asks, his body still, but his breaths coming shorter and shallow.

"I don't know how to be what you need me to be," Branden whispers tightly. He closes his eyes tight and tries to keep from hitting the cabinets in frustration. "I don't... Why won't you push?"

"Brand," Jepha's voice breaks on his name and Branden exhales shakily, presses his forehead to Jepha's.

"Push," he says again, more a plea than a command, and he shivers when Jepha's hand rests tentatively on his hip.

"Branden," Jepha says again, quiet and scared, but he kisses the hot skin under Branden's eye, the corner of his mouth, and Branden goes so still he can feel the tickle of Jepha's eyelashes. His eyes are still closed and he jumps when Jepha's thumb swipes over his lower lip. "You don't--"

"Push," Branden says again, tilting his head down, and Jepha meets him halfway, his lips warm and gentle. Branden freezes for a second and Jepha makes a small sound, pulls away a fraction before Branden hooks a hand around the back of Jepha's neck, holding him in place, pulling him closer. Branden's never kissed a boy before, never wanted to put a name to the itch he would get under his skin when Jepha would fall in his lap, boneless and a little drunk, and snuggle up close. He likes girls, women, big breasts and warm thighs, soft hair under his fingers. And Jepha. Branden likes Jepha, _loves_ Jepha, and Jepha's hair is soft and his mouth his hot and he's whimpering against Branden's mouth, and oh. Oh, _fuck_.

Branden's totally out of his depth here, and when he leans back Jepha gasps, his eyes still closed. Branden strokes the skin under his ear with this thumb until Jepha's eyes flutter open. Branden's shaking a little, his knees and his fingers, and his heart is beating a thousand miles an hour, but he can see it there, the spark that Branden couldn't bear to look at four years ago, and he thinks he must be the biggest idiot in the whole world. The worst best friend, the most insensitive kind of torturer. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, because how could Jepha ever forgive him for four years of pretending this wasn't there? Four years of willful ignorance, because Branden was scared of _Jepha_?

Jepha's face falls and Branden wants to say it again, _I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry_ , but Jepha just squeezes his hip and smiles sadly, the spark in his eyes falling away. "It's okay, it's not. I didn't expect you to feel... I don't need that, okay? I'll get over it, or I won't, but it's not your fault," he says quietly, _kindly_ , and Branden blinks, shakes his head.

"What... no. No, that's." Branden cups Jepha's face in both hands, forces his eyes up to his face. "Four _years_ , and I'm such a fucking _idiot_ ," he says vehemently, and he pulls Jepha into another kiss, deeper, almost frantic, and Jepha's whole body is bowstring taut, shivering as Branden presses his tongue into Jepha's mouth, tries to get him to understand that _this_ is what he wants, _this_ is what... but then Jepha's hands fist in his shirt and pull him impossibly closer, until Jepha's arms are around his neck and Branden is sliding his hands down to Jepha's ass, holding him up as Jepha's legs wrap around his waist, his mouth slipping down to bite at Branden's neck.

"Oh, f-fuck," Branden grits out and Jepha laughs low in his ear, sexy and awed all at once. "Don't go to California," Branden says, in case he hasn't been totally clear about that, and Jepha's legs tighten around him, his nails scraping lightly over Branden's scalp.

"I'm not going to let you forget you're a fucking idiot," Jepha says fondly, breathless, and Branden figures he can get used to that, as long as he's also getting used to Jepha kissing him deep and slow and always.


End file.
